Resident Evil: Symphony of Madness
by Dark Glass Marionette
Summary: After being betrayed, nothing is the same. With Chris gone, it's all in shambles. Some minds are still strong... others careen on the edge of sanity until nothing's left and they're lost in darkness. DISCONTINUED, READ AUTHOR'S NOTE.
1. Prologue I: Moving On

**Author's Note:** It is here, ladies and gentlement, the perhaps belated sequel for Dawn of Uroboros. I'm really glad I wasn't very late in posting it; it's been hellish to be able to write properly. Now I warn you: until I have a more decent work station, the updates will be very slow; I have the two prologues and four chapters completed, and I wouldn't like to see the updates catching up to the current amount of... story xD Anyway, this picks up at where DoU left off, just a mere five days-full week after the ending. We're starting with short prologues as an introductory note, to put it like that, and to introduce new characters that are going to play a BIG role in this story, be it directly or indirectly (I'm not sayiing how xD). At the same time, we still focus on the triangle I have going on (W/J/C) along with some L/C (yup, this is new), some action on both sides for Rebecca and pairings with my OCs; I have to do something, don't I?

Oh, and by the way... this is rated M for serious psychological moments and others. Yup, my big hit.

**Disclaimer: Usual disclaimer; if not, RE5 would've been a whole different deal xD**

Without further ado, I present to you... Resident Evil: Symphony of Madness. Enjoy!^^

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Resident Evil  
Symphony of Madness

_Summary: After being double-crossed, nothing is the same. With Chris gone, it's all a shambles. Some minds are still strong... others careen on the edge of sanity until nothing is left of them and they're lost in darkness. Revenge, hatred, rejection... madness._

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Prologue I

Moving On

_"Look who's back from dead."_

_And then, fear, genuine fear that made him think his blood had literally frozen in his veins. Hesitant, as fearful as one who was about to face the Devil himself, Chris turned and then the cold hands of disbelief and horror clutched his heart as his eyes caught sight of the person in front of him. As he approached, Chris found the strength and the will to fully turn around and back away with a strangled gasp._

_"You shouldn't have come," he heard Jill say. What the hell was happening?_

_"Jill, what's... what's he doing here?" he asked, looking at her for some kind of convincing answer. "Tell me this isn't- You're supposed to be DEAD!"_

–

**September 2nd, 2009**

_It's all been a dream._

As such Chris would've liked to think if it wasn't for how real the dream had felt. Nothing was more loathsome than reliving dreadful moments like that one, distant but yet so familiar. He tried to focus on something else at the same time he rubbed his eyes, then proceeded to look outside the window but he found no comfort in the rainy darkness that surrounded them. Once more, sleep was not on his side, which made him wonder if losing sleep was part of the side-effects of the virus. What wouldn't be, in any case? It had changed him completely, modified even his soul, that at the moment felt all but alive. It would be ironic to consider himself a living dead, and he even smirked at the joke.

After settling the final plans with Marco, they had proceeded to pack everything they had at Vancouver HQ to move it back to Europe, where they would finally stay to take care of things. Chris himself presented no complaints against the scheme, since keeping tabs on everything that would take place was far from useless when it came to adjusting his agenda. Whatever information he could acquire from the people that surrounded Marco, like how they worked or what kind of people they were, was useful to him, even if that included Vithar. He'd admitted -not unwillingly- that he had become more perceptive than before, more observant and cool-headed, examining everything and everyone closely. It didn't keep him from seeing the big picture, which was what interested him the most at the moment. As reluctant as he was to say it, he was becoming more like his enemy.

_I'm nothing like him. I **hate** being like him, that's why I'm so intent on getting everything back._

_**If that's the case, then why the desire for revenge?**_

Chris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. _Because whatever I've taken from him, he's augmented the feeling almost a hundred-fold. He's human, I'm not; that's not like it should be. I'm being guided by reason and not instinct, unlike before. The virus has changed me as it perhaps changed Wesker, considering he didn't shape himself into the man he is now. What if I'm going down the same lane? I hate to consider the prospect, but what other choice do I have?_

**_If you think you're going down the same lane as Wesker,_** Christopher began with nonchalance, **_then it's because you're allowing yourself. I'm not to blame, mind you. I'm you, after all. Whatever choices you make, it's because we both agree._**

_Perhaps that's the case. _ Chris sighed again, thinking about the many times he'd thought of Wesker as a monster, a human without a soul. For a moment, he decided to analyze himself as he was now and his former self. As he stared at his dull reflection on the glass, he asked himself if he had turned into that same soulless human Wesker had been until now. He had seen him completely human, physically and emotionally, and there was him on the other hand. Were the changes so severe they had both stepped through the looking glass?

_**What an Alice-esque kind of situation, don't you agree?**_

Chris leaned back in his seat, the lack of sleep quickly catching up to him. What was leading him? What was driving him to continue? Was it ambition? Was it greed?

_**I told you: greed is not bad once in a while. After all, variety is the spice of life. **_

_I was never like that._

_**Ah-ah-ah! That's it, Chris, you were. What about now? Why would you have embarked in such a quest if you hadn't chosen ambition and greed as your guides? It's time to truly seek what you are looking for and not stop before whatever simple damper that gets in your way. You heard me: no mercy. It's time to lose the naivety you still possess and look past all you see. **_

_I've lacked the means until now, have I? _Chris glanced down at his hands, frowning. _I've always wished to get stronger but I've never felt like so despite all my efforts. _

_**Why would you give up now? Don't be foolish; accept what you've become already! There's no shame in it!**_

"Everything alright?"

So absorbed he had been within his thoughts that Chris hadn't noticed Marco Gionne creeping up on him, his pace calm and inquisitive. With one of his lean eyebrows arched, it was more than obvious that the question was sincere. Chris couldn't help but smiling inwardly at the contrast between his status and how he reflected it. He was more than casual when it came to clothing: a simple checkered shirt under a black sweater and slightly bleached jeans was all he was wearing at the moment; not to mention his hair, which was barely combed properly. With a dip of his head, Marco sat at the opposite side of the small table between them, eyeing Chris intently. Chris shifted, somehow uncomfortable.

"Yeah, nothing to worry about."

Marco tilted his head to one side. "Lack of sleep?"

It was Chris' turn to cock an eyebrow. _Does this guy read minds or what?_

_**He's observant, you fool. Besides, if you were careful enough to look at yourself in a mirror, you would agree with his thoughts: you look dismal.**_

_Do you read them too?_

Chris dismissed the bickering and nodded, acknowledging there would be no way around the bush with Marco around. "Recurring dreams, too. I suppose it's more than familiar with you."

Marco nodded. "Yes, it's a familiar feeling. Your sleep is not that deep, I assume." Chris almost narrowed his eyes to slits, a gesture to which Marco chuckled. "No offense, but you do give off that vibe. Always being alert, I suppose, makes you slightly paranoid."

For some reason, Chris felt like he could push the matter a bit further. "It happens to you?"

"Oh, yes, and since I was a mere kid," Marco replied, smiling absently. "I was competitive and quite the idiot, so I had the feeling I would always fail. Defeat is horrible, particularly bitter to those who haven't tasted it frequently, and I was afraid of it. I too know what it is to suffer insomnia, but I don't think that's your condition."

Chris shook his head. "It isn't, fortunately." He measured his next words with a teaspoon. "You don't seem to be like... your sister, Excella."

It was then that Marco's features changed, ever so slightly, but they changed. Whilst his smile didn't disappear, it still faltered; his brow creased and he became a bit tense. He took his time to speak. "Yes... I'm not like her. She was a mentor figure for me, someone I'd back up until my last breath, but we were worlds apart, too. She was haughty, she strove for a higher place in society whilst I liked to keep a low profile. I was always prudent; I tried to tell her that fitting in wasn't important when it could risk everything, but she didn't listen." A pause. "Now I know that she was right in her own way, after all."

Chris had never expected to see such a side to a man like Marco. Whilst it was true that Excella had already shown what reputation the family had, Marco was making him think otherwise. It was almost acceptable that they had something in common: people dear to them both had been taken away both by circumstance and a single man, so perhaps sticking by him was not such a bad idea in the end. Chris saw Marco twitch another smile.

"I take it you didn't expect me to say this?" he asked, amused.

Chris hesitated. "Perhaps not, but I felt like I could push the matter a bit further."

Marco's smile widened. "Careful, it's not about trust. You and I have a bit in common, maybe more than this."

Chris shrugged, but Marco was quick to pipe up again. "There's something I have to discuss with you, if that's okay."

Chris perked up his head at the seriousness in his tone and paid full attention; whatever was going on, it would have to sit well with his current agenda.

_**Pay close attention, Chris; whatever he wants you to do, judge it wisely.**_

_I plan to do that._

"Sure. It's all planning and planning, right?"

"Right on. Well... the executives at Tricell, as I told you, are proving to be a bit problematic. The situation's quite unstable when it comes to dealing with the company and making it resurface, and at present we don't stand a chance to live up to our former reputation. At the same time..." Marco paused, rubbing his chin pensively. "Since I've agreed with my part of our deal, I'll have to conduct some research on the vaccine. Of course, it's mandatory to notify the board of all the projects that are ongoing or will be started, and I don't want them on my back."

_But if the executives kick the bucket too early, then... Oh, God..._

_**He wants to make the company plunge into bankruptcy so that it closes down. Or perhaps just offer it to other company. In any case, he wants to get rid of Tricell for good.**_

Chris frowned, fearing where the conversation would lead. "Let me guess: you want them all taken care of?"

"Precisely."

"That would make the company go berserk; it would be pandemonium," Chris piped up, suspicious. "Why would you want to sink the company?"

"And that's where you come in," Marco hurried to add. Chris was left surprised.

"Me?"

"Yes. It's going to be swift; no need to worry. The upshot of what I plan to do will be the perfect bait for your... 'friends', I assure you. You want them to be taken care of the sooner, the better, right?"

All doubts disappeared and the plan was met with positivism.

"Then, it's my turn to die."

The game was on.

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_A/N: HA! I'm leaving you all to guess who said that last line; I'm going to play a lot with ambiguity here. Also, I wanted to show a bit more to Marco; he's not a complete bastard and a haughty idiot like Excella, which was what I like to play with. Marco is seeking revenge but he is careful and treads slowly. As you can see, Chris is starting to get an eeny bit "stupid", things are affecting him more than they should... It wont' end up good._

_So, do you think it was a good beginning? I really hope everyone who stuck around DoU finds their interest piqued about what happens in this one. I will try to get the next update up as soon as possible._

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	2. Prologue II: Hunters

**Author's Note: **Another chappie here, second and last prologue. I'm introducing a few surprise characters here and I revealed information I wanted to keep secret quite openly, so that you get a first idea of who they are. A few chapters in, we'll know who they are. Now, on to the read!^^

**Disclaimer: Usual.**

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Prologue II

Hunters

He had waited long enough. It was time to move.

Despite having no leads to go after his target, he was sure that it was the right time to take action. At least his name was, although not so praised, still well-known across the world, so with the right sources and a stable pace, he was sure he'd stumble across him in no time. He wouldn't be easy to find, since the public had accepted he was dead and gone for years to come, but he would nevertheless find the man who was his brother in everything except blood: Albert Wesker, a man who was supposed to be dead but in reality wasn't. He knew of his couple of deaths and rebirths, given what he was made of, and tracking him down was the most important thing to do at the moment. There were others, his companions, who were also looking for him, that were expectant to see one of the vile Umbrella's leftovers turned into the greatest beings in history.

But he expected otherwise. He expected to see him human, to see someone who he could remember to have escaped unharmed from the horrors in his life. Spencer, with his idealistic dreams of a new race of humans, had created monsters, aberrations; as he looked at his hands, he considered himself to be one of them. Of course, it was all very different when it came to Wesker. For some reason, he had been the most trusted of the project, having been granted privileges the others hadn't. He wasn't marked with his subject number, he was given more time to adapt to who and what he was; in short, he was special. He chuckled at the thought of the relationship between Wesker and Spencer careening on a father-and-son sort. It was obnoxious, an opinion even Wesker would share.

Every child of the project was destined to seek Spencer out at some point in their life, but not many of them had reached their goal. Hundreds had died along the way because of one simple cause: themselves. They had been selected because of their genes, of their superior intellect, but when the selective phase was started, not many of them could fight against the side effects and perished. First their families were torn apart, then them. Whether aware or not, it was impossible to escape the memories that would resurface in the most unexpected of moments, whether they were in the back of your mind or not.

His own memories had also resurfaced, had haunted him even in his dreams, in his daily life. And it was impossible to lock them back in the chest where they belonged.

Jake had known many of his friends that had died without remedy. Their deaths had come suddenly, harshly, but they were not unexpected. Jake himself had survived because of some miracle, so had his most trusted companions -amongst them his girlfriend-, and now they were living every minute of their lives to the extreme, knowing that it would be over for them sooner than later. It was because of that reason that Jake had to find Wesker, so that he could warn him of dangers he wasn't aware of. He was sure that Wesker had already found Spencer, had found whatever pieces of the truth the old man had revealed to him, but there were doors that hadn't been opened yet.

Jake glanced downwards with a feeble smile. Wesker's feats had not gone by unnoticed by them. Garrett, another of his brothers in everything except blood, had always considered Wesker a mentor, an example to lead, but living life as a man shaped by someone else was despicable, even if you believed that was your true essence. Both Garrett and Jake felt compelled to look for him, see him again even if the result would be nothing but rejection; the sight would be worth it. And despite having lived in the shadows for years on end, they knew they would find him.

All of a sudden, a comforting hand fell upon his shoulder, making him jump, and a soft voice brought him out of his reverie. "Why so lonely?"

He felt her sit by his side, in eternal darkness. Her fragrance reached his nostrils, keeping him aware of her presence. Luckily, she still wasn't gone. "I don't know, really. You know I don't notice people coming or going."

"You should've known by the silence," she said, chipper, "but it's alright. What's bothering you, Jake?"

Jake sighed, frowning. "Don't call me that."

"Then what should I call you, hm?" she asked back, suddenly snappy. "You don't want us to use your experiment name, you don't want us to use your real one. Look at Garrett, look at me; we-"

Jake raised his hands with a hiss, impatient and annoyed. "Okay, okay... Use my real one, it's alright. I'm just not used to it, really." He sighed. "Lara, we have to find him." Jake left his hand hovering above his knee, and he soon felt Lara's hand clutching it kindly.

"He's one of us. The only one that's accomplished even more than us," she said, wistful.

"He's the only one Spencer 'spared', after all," came another voice from behind them. Jake recognized it as Garrett's, a young and vibrant British voice. "He was left at his leisure. I can't believe I'm actually feeling envious of him when we ourselves have qualities no other could've matched."

Jake sighed. "It's our chance this time. I'm sure he doesn't know he's dying. His time will come soon, too."

"We don't have much left either, Jake," said Lara, her tone crestfallen. Oh, how he wished he could see her... "It was written into the serum. No matter how we try to keep ourselves alive, we're slowly dying every day."

Garrett sighed. "At least we could warn him. If he's still taking it-"

"It doesn't matter if he takes it or not," Jake snapped. "He's surely taken more than enough doses, given it's two a day, and even if he stopped... he's going to kick it soon, too. But..."

Judging by how comfortable it felt being by Lara, Jake knew she had smiled. "You still have to look for him, right?" Jake, hesitant, nodded. "Then we'll help you. We're still alive, after all."

Jake smiled. "Thanks... a lot."

Then it was Garrett's hand upon his shoulder. "Of course! I still remember him as quite the sod, but he's worth our time. I heard your niece was with him."

Jake's head perked up. "My... niece? She's... she's still alive?" He couldn't believe his ears: after all that happened over the years, she was still alive? With _him_? It was impossible to hold back the joy. Jake grinned.

"She is, Jake, and healthier than ever, so I've heard," Garrett spoke, firm and positive. "Two at the price of one, don't you think?"

He had to see her.

Time to hunt.

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_A/N: Aha! See what I told you? Let's see what impression you got from this xD_

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	3. Chapter I: On Wings Of Steel

**Author's Note:** Next chappy, and sorry the update is a day late. In any case, we're getting the foundations built, so it's getting on to the read and finding out. Enjoy! And please, any mistakes you find, tell me. This underwent several last-minute rewritings and I may have missed something. The game's afoot! xD

**Disclaimer: The usual, or else this future trilogy would be true xD**

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I

On Wings of Steel

_Don't you ever lose them_

**September 3rd, 2009**

**Williamsburg Bridge, Manhattan. 04:30 am.**

There were a few people who thought that standing atop one of the cables of a bridge was an enjoyable experience. Wesker was one of those.

It had been another one of those sleepless nights for him, a night of bizarre dreams and, often, restlessness. It wasn't an unfamiliar condition, insomnia, but it had disappeared for him a long time ago; its return had been far from welcome. Whatever was bothering him was dealing a blow every day and even if he was certain of what was that bother of his, on the other hand he wasn't entirely sure. He could very well settle with the typical, his first excuse: the current situation, his vendetta with his nemesis, but that wasn't it. Not even that had caused him to lose what little time he had to rest, and not even his work. Voluntarily... well, that was acceptable; what wasn't was 'unwittingly'.

The moon was still up in the sky; another night would end, another day would start.. Time would go by, that day would end, would be left behind. But for Wesker, whose notion of time had remained unchanged by all past events, it was _always_ night and it would remain so unless he put an end to his situation. It was no more an emergency: now, it was an obsession, his first one in years. Killing his nemesis before all this had happened had been a goal, but nothing to have meddled in his affairs. Now, and he knew this perfectly, it had to be tamed and restrained if he wanted to keep his feet upon the ground.

"_I'll get myself back and fight this, because I refuse to be like you."_

Wesker chuckled at the sudden flashback. _Not so brave now, are you? You'll soon realize how much you've longed your whole life to be __**that**__ insane... and how much you want it to stop. __**I'll **__make it stop for you._

For a moment, he chastised himself for all this thinking. This had been his first chance to get away from everyone in a very long time and here he was, wasting it on thinking and musing that would only make his restlessness spike. With that attempt to clear his mind came Jill, that whom he had tried not to think about for the longest of times. Just the mere thought of her unsettled him, stirred something strange within him, and many had been his attempts to stifle it, to scatter it like ashes into the wind, but to no avail.

_What would she think of this?_

"What she thinks is of no importance now," he told himself, shaking his head.

_It's not fair for you to say that. You should know she trusts you now and she hasn't misplaced her faith._

"Nothing's fair these days, unfortunately. She has no say in this; she's got no control over me." He sighed. "But if that's the case, why is it that _I myself_ have no means to keep everything under control? I should be calm, undeterred, but nothing of the sort happens. Perhaps with time..."

_Or perhaps not, but who knows? It's a bit early to decide yet. Mhm, that's the thing of having fallen in love with her: limits a lot of your decisions. _

With that settled, Wesker leaned back against the cold metal and kept staring on ahead.

He knew what he had to do.

–

It was one of the few times that Leon felt truly overwhelmed by the tension around him. He was definitely not the kind of guy to take everything lightly, to give things the importance they didn't deserve, but he needed to have his head clear and put his thoughts in order. The part of the night he'd already slept through hadn't helped his thoughts to settle down; as if he'd gotten no rest at all. And so, trying with all his might not to call Claire's attention, Leon slipped out of the room and headed at full pelt for the roof, wishing he had wings for the umpteenth time. After a small set of stairs and a fast ride on the elevator, he was there.

But he wasn't alone.

The same moment he opened the door, he found Jill with her back to him and he froze in his place, thanking the good oiling of the door's hinges. His breath hitched in hesitation; luckily, she hadn't noticed him... yet. For a moment he remained still, thinking of whether to approach her or not. Leon feared his presence would disturb her, would cause her more damage than the one she'd already taken, and with resignation he left the door ajar and turned his back to it. It was impossible for him to feel what she was feeling -and even _try_ to feel it-, something that left him more in the dumps than he already was.

He hadn't even a spark of altruism in him, but knowing that there was nothing he could do to palliate her pain was more than frustrating. With that frustration looming over him like a black cloud, Leon started to walk down the stairs when-

"Why're you leaving?"

Jill's voice made him jump and so bad was his luck that he misplaced his foot and literally turned his back to the stairs, nothing to help him gain back his balance. His stomach knotted up, everything going to fast to do something about it, until it was Jill that reached forward and firmly grabbed his arm, pulling him upwards. It gave him enough time to bring his feet down to the ground again, and then it was over: thanks to her, he had avoided a serious fall. Heart pounding in his ears, Leon stared at her, catching his breath as she did the same, and was the first one to notice their hands were still within each other's. Not harshly, he recovered his wits and lowered his arm, chuckling between breaths.

"Good God, I'm sorry, Leon," Jill began to apologize. "I don't know what's wrong with me but-"

"It's alright, no fusses," he replied, cutting through her words. With a final smile, he added, "I've had worse." He climbed back up to the landing of the stairs, placing himself next to Jill. "And replying to your question, I didn't want to bother. I didn't know you were there, but I decided to leave... just in case."

Jill's face changed slightly, letting on a bit more of her previous emotional state. "Oh... Heh, I'm okay... so far, so good, I guess. Don't ask me what I'm doing here; I don't even know myself." She returned outside, having exchanged a sad look with Leon, who was deeply moved by such sadness. He had seen a fair amount of it in Claire's gaze many times, but none so intense as Jill's. Claire had changed for her own sake -and she was in all her right to do so- but it seemed Jill was still unable.

Leon followed behind her, keeping his distances once more and paying attention to her. "Do I need to lecture you again?" In that moment, he bit his tongue: patronizing, maybe?

But Jill merely laughed, the sound faint and forced. "No, it's not necessary. I was thinking about that, too, in fact. I have a bit of sense of déjà vu."

"Oh? Surprise me; what kind of thoughts roamed your mind? Of course, if you've made a vow of secrecy, then I'm nobody to make you break it."

When he came next to her, his smirk was met with a smile of hers. "What's gotten to you now? You sound a bit more light-hearted than usual," she said, quirking an eyebrow. Leon shrugged, taken by surprise.

"Look, I'm being completely natural here. I'm not going to rub salt into the wound just because I feel like it," he replied, looking at her.

She chuckled, bitter. "I know." Jill sighed. "I suppose I should thank you, silly me. You've been a good support these days."

"I'll do whatever helps, Jill, _but_," Leon told her, "nothing that means hurting you again."

Jill's face fell into a frown, not taking her eyes away from his. "Everything hurts now, Leon," she said pointedly. "No matter who I look at, Chris _always_ comes to my mind, and it _hurts_. But..." Her tone changed after her next sigh, "I can't blame it on all of you. It's just a matter of getting over it, that's it... I don't know if I can, though."

Leon pursed his lips, thinking of what to say next. She was more than right. He measured his next words with a teaspoon. "You mean getting over it and changing yourself in the process?" Jill perked up her head at him, eyes wider than before. Her shocked silence prompted him to continue. "I've known a few people who've done that and unfortunately, I lost them to time's passing." He closed his eyes. "Claire's somehow going down that lane, though she's still herself in many ways. You heard what she said about her disposition until all of this had ended... On the other hand, she has to do it."

"That reminds me of someone..." The remark wasn't supposed to lay some blame on him; Leon had a full understanding of who she was referring to.

"You mean _him_?" he inquired, gentle. He earned a brief nod in response. "I don't know him as well as you do, but perhaps I'm able to see the bigger picture."

"It's not perhaps; you _can_ see it, in fact," Jill countered, firm. "You're not as knee-deep into this as we all are; at least, when it comes to Chris, me, Claire and Rebecca. Once you get too deep into something, you can't really catch the big picture. But you, you're different."

"He hasn't hurt me that much; I see the reason why," Leon agreed, "but I also worked with you to stop him. I was the one who let Chris know of the precedent of the incident in Africa with my report. Now, watching you and... and Sherry, it kinda gives a slighter different idea of who he is." Leon caught notice of Jill's surprised look.

"What's left you so surprised?"

"Nothing," she quickly said, recovering her composure. "J-Just... hearing you say that about... Wesker. It's caught me unawares, really."

Leon frowned at the mention of Wesker. "I don't have that much of a long history with him, you know that, but Sherry makes me... _think_. When I was a kid, I had a strong sense of what justice was... but that was just relative. My justice would be to put an end to all evil; the justice of those who spread it would be to keep doing so. Sherry told me about that with another example. It was nothing that changed my beliefs radically, but something that opened another door.

"Sherry told me that she would've most likely taken revenge for what happened to her family, to everyone she knew, but she refused to. Something I've see in her is how much of a realist she is, not to mention her practical mind. She doesn't see absolutes; she never has."

"She once said: 'We're not black or white; we're always gray'. I've realized what she meant with that."

"We're neither sinners nor saints," Leon agreed, shrugging. "I myself could've taken the wrong lane, considering my family's history, but I didn't."

"Your family's history?" Leon noticed how tentative that question had been, but also the curious undertone in it. Since it was something he didn't have to be cagey about, he agreed to explain himself.

"They were involved in Chicago's underworld, with drug dealing, I think. I don't know how deep they were in the business, but it didn't end up well for them. I lost them when I was in high school."

"I didn't know. I'm sorry," Jill said, downbeat.

"No big deal; I was left peachy," Leon added with a bit of sarcasm. "But it was after that event that I realized that thinking my parents were 'good', to put it like that, was wrong, but thinking about them as 'bad' would also be. From then on, I've had an open vision of the world. I know how to difference those who spread evil because of greed and those who spread it because of revenge and everything it implies. Sherry told me something similar about her parents; it was completely understandable."

"Looks like you've gotten on well with her, eh?" Jill asked, a bit more chipper.

"Sure," Leon spoke with a nod. "I can barely see the girl I met all those years ago, running from danger and clinging to us; she's someone else entirely. She's got mother's determination... not to mention a bit of a short fuse." Jill laughed at his remark, so did he. "She's one of the closest people to me and perhaps because of that closeness, I'm learning to see things another way. I really don't know why, though."

"It's silly of me to think this, but it somehow relieves me to hear you say that," Jill said, looking up at him with a faint smile, one Leon returned.

"Not everyone can share one's own point of view but it always makes you at ease to see someone does, right?" he asked back kindly. "I understand that kind of feeling, Jill."

"I just wish Chris would've understood me."

Leon hardened his features a bit. "He will with time, trust me. If I were him, I wouldn't have reacted any other way."

"C'mon, with his rashness and all that?" Jill exclaimed, dumbstruck, and Leon realized he'd phrased his reply wrong. He raised his hands in defense.

"No, no! Not at all! That's not what I meant to say, sorry," he apologized, then sighed. At the same time, Jill released a shaky breath, color returning to her cheeks. "I never thought Chris to be very... open-minded, to put it like that; then again, I haven't gone through what he has. It's difficult to change, that's for sure, but that doesn't involve taking it to extremes like these."

"I see your point," Jill agreed, then chuckled nervously. "Sorry for the outburst; perhaps I'm a bit touchy lately."

"No worries. He'll be back with us." His words didn't seem to cheer Jill up a single bit. A pause, then Leon said, "I'm going to be practical and blunt: it's not a promise I can keep by myself."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if I'm convinced and you're not... it's like with statistics: the art to lie with numbers. If you consider it like a mathematical problem, then..."

"Hm, I guess I get it. Heh, you worry completely, I don't worry at all: statistics say we're both worried at fifty-fifty." Jill nodded.

"I know that, Leon, I know we're all determined to get Chris back. But for some reason, I can't help but thinking it's already too late. You've seen him; he's..." The rest of the sentence never left Jill's lips.

"It's never late, not until you decide it yourself," Leon pointed out, meeting her gaze. For a moment, he thought of making another approach: when he put an arm around her shoulders, she didn't flinch nor move away. "There's always a choice... but there's _not_ always the choice that keeps your head on your shoulders. Don't take that by its literal meaning, by the way; I'm just saying."

"And I understand, Leon. Thanks."

Leon managed a smirk. "Sure."

Then, something Leon would've never expected: Jill leaned in against him, making it seem like a half-hearted embrace, but Leon could tell by the way she settled next to him that she had needed it. And so, he pressed her tighter to him, being of as much comfort and support as possible despite knowing nothing would be able to close Jill's wounds until it was Chris who was in Leon's own position... perhaps even Wesker, who Leon hadn't forgotten about. A curious thought came to his mind: "Better get away from the wrath of a betrayed woman". Leon chuckled inwardly: Jill wouldn't lose her marbles so quickly.

He just hoped he wouldn't disappoint her.

–

His sister wasn't there with him, and Vithar missed her terribly.

He had tried to get Chris to talk to him about her but his answer would always be the same: he knew nothing about her whereabouts. Same thing had happened when addressing Marco, but his answer had been a bit more positive: she was being searched for. Still, it did nothing to console him. Vithar had cried himself to sleep many times, mourning a sister he indeed thought lost, and the price for his tears was too high: he was left paralyzed, weak, every time it happened, and Marco was never there for him. Vithar didn't need him to be; his master was not to be disturbed when busy and if there was something Vithar knew that was more of a flaw than a virtue in him, that was modesty.

_Freya..._

Her name triggered more tears in his sapphire eyes, but the unbeatable sadness that had seized him all those times didn't return. Vithar was scared to think his tears were hollow, that there was no meaning to them, that crying for Freya was pointless. With that fear lingering, Vithar shrunk tighter, gripping his pillow with almost incredible strength, and buried his face in it. But then, Vithar started crying once more, which made his legs go limp and his shoulders sag. It was a horrible feeling, but a medical condition he couldn't remedy.

"Crying again, Vithar?" called a voice. Vithar knew whose voice that was. Without looking up, he nodded. "I lost a sister, too; you know that, right?"

"Yes..." Vithar sobbed, lifting his arm with a strong effort just to dry his eyes. "I know. I-I miss Freya... so much..."

"Do you want to hurt those who took her away?" his companion inquired suggestively. Pain; such a familiar concept for him in all ways possible. Vithar himself had inflicted it upon other children he had met in the past, had been scarred by what killing innocents implied. Pain was what he wanted to escape from, no matter the cost, be it self-inflicted or not.

"Hurting them would mean hurting you... and I don't want to do that," Vithar replied, blinking several times. "I've done that a lot of times in the past... It n-never gave a good... good result."

"I know. It also happens with me: I would have to hurt someone I trust to get my revenge, and that's not what I want. I'll help you get her back, I swear."

The prospect of revenge had never appealed to him, but no desire had even been stronger than that of getting his sister back. Freya was the only person he had in the world to show love to, nobody else, and losing that would be like losing his heart. Vithar looked up this time, having found some degree of hope in his companion's words. All of a sudden, Vithar felt a rush of energy, rush that helped him climb out of bed and approach him. His efforts were rewarded with warm arms around him, instilling in him the same hope his words had before. For the first time, Vithar didn't cry.

"Trust me, Vithar. I can help you."

"How?" asked the boy.

"In whatever way possible. I know your pain, I know what you want. I wouldn't like you to suffer what I have after losing the only family I had left."

"Thank you," Vithar smiled, asking greedily for support from that embrace.

When he received it, Vithar also received calmness and strength to hope, for he knew he wasn't alone anymore.

–

**02:30 am.**

**Florence, Italy.**

Maria Greene had never felt so paranoid.

The prospect of taking her usual shortcut to get home had never looked so dismal. Despite the streets were still full of night-life, people going to and fro without noticing her, Maria felt like she was alone with so much as her own shadow... which she never trusted. She walked with almost deliberate slowness through the crowd, looking everywhere as the chills than ran down her spine got the best of her and made her lose focus on what really mattered: now, getting home was her only objective. The streets were hostile and she was afraid somebody would jump at her in a matter of seconds, but not just _someone_. Maria had the persistent sensation of being watched by a certain someone, despite not knowing who that was... or did she know?

A part of her mind told her off when she turned right and entered a set of dark alleys, another told her she was doing the right thing: getting home was now an order to be carried out at all costs. The sounds of the street gradually faded away into nothingness, leaving her with silence and insecurity as her companions. Then, out of instinct, she turned on her heels to check if somebody was following her; as a part of her expected, there was no-one there. Her confidence going slack, Maria turned again and kept on walking, only to start hearing the odd echo of her footsteps. She was wearing low heels and they never made so much noise... Somebody was following her.

The cock of a gun... dreadfully close to her.

Maria didn't hesitate, didn't even bother to look behind her: she broke into a frenzied run home. He was behind her, following her; she _knew _who _he_ was. All of a sudden, she slipped; she was barely able to regain her balance after supporting herself against a damp wall. Tears came to her eyes as she understood: this was no usual murder attempt... it had been planned. She was destined to die and her killer's identity was more than obvious. Maria tried calling for help: first, none would come; second, her voice was literally stuck in her throat, unspoken words reflected in eyes nobody could see. She was tempted to stop and look back; she hadn't even decreased her speed when her pursuer caught hold of her hair and stopped her run, foiled her attempt to escape.

Maria yelled out as she was thrown to the ground, bumping her temple against it. Her vision swam before her eyes as she moved, turned slowly to face him, and even in the darkness she recognized his face. It was ruthless and impassive with a dark glint in his eyes, a glint she had seen many times before. He didn't move, only watched her, and Maria didn't fight anymore.

"You've... c'mon, kill me..." she breathed out between heavy pants. She didn't list the reasons behind her next chuckle. "_He_ sent you, didn't he? That haughty son of a bitch..."

Her words never seemed to reach him; they just triggered a light shift of position from him. Under what little light there was, Maria made out the silhouette of his sidearm, which he was gripping tightly in his right hand... locked and loaded.

"Just do it already..."

"Are you so impatient to die, y'old buckaroo?" came his unexpected question. Maria had the unsettling feeling that she had just won some time... "Fine by me."

She gasped... and nothing more.

* * *

_A/N: Aha! Yet another moment of ambiguity in Vithar's fragment! Whoever may have that been? I'll let you decide and interpret, because it gets a bit more complicated from here on with other plans and such. _

_Oh, and for those that are interested, there will be a (stupid me, but anyway) "Great Mouse Detective" oneshot coming up after this update. For those who consider the movie to be both a Disney and childhood classic, you're all welcome to read it xD _

_Reviews on this are appreciated!^^_


	4. Chapter II: The Bigger Picture

**Author's Note: **Update that is due. I appreciate everyone's support and opinions on this story; it means the world to me. Now, a few things may be cleared here, some others may not, but all in due time. We start with a bit of a gripping event that will twist how everything's turning out so far. Not a lot else happens on this chapter, but you'll see. Enjoy!^^

**Disclaimer: The usual.**

**Thanks to _Chaed, Divine Arion, Ultimolu, Nyx Nightshade and Skiptrix _for their wonderful reviews!^^**

**

* * *

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II

The Bigger Picture

_Essential_

No matter how much they begged for mercy, no matter how many they sent to stop him, the last few minutes would repeat themselves: more bodies would fill the conference room. The smell of dry blood was noticeable, faint even, but it wasn't any stronger than the stench of monotony, the stench of homogeneity. All of his victims had been the same, falling almost in a straight line as he shot them down one by one; same went for the security guards. They had tried to stop him, and they had failed. The crimson-stained floor was the evidence and more.

_**I never thought you'd agree to do it. Look at this mess...**_

"It's what I had to do. Now it's only a matter of time until this disaster hits the headlines... and then they'll know. Marco comes next."

_**Somebody might hear you, might take it the wrong way.**_

"My words fall on deaf ears; they'll take no notice of it," Chris scoffed as he ejected the empty magazine and replaced it with another full one. "I'm curious to know exactly why I've had to do this, kill all these executives, but I don't dare to ask any more questions."

_**It's a head-start for them, in an ironic way. What comes next?**_

"Waiting, see if they take the bait. It won't be long until they get wind of it."

Then, Chris sighed, rubbing his eyes. About ten people killed in a single night; Maria Greene went without saying. For once, he hadn't felt that hesitation, that regret that a few killers were haunted by: it had been a mission, nothing more. Back in his time at the BSAA, all criminals Jill and him had arrested had been taken care of by someone else, not them; they needn't get their hands dirty. Whenever the job fell on them though, it had been a different matter: Chris, despite his sense of justice -now extinct-, would've hesitated and stood down if it wasn't for his obligations, obligations Jill had also had present. And so, he'd had to do it.

But now, that naive sense of justice that had lived within him was gone, replaced by a stronger one, a more twisted one. He could see things not many people could through points of view nobody could ever picture due to their unsuitability.

And it felt _wrong_.

The sound of the door opening caught his attention and Chris then found himself staring into the eyes of another board member, this time a woman, who didn't even gasp at the sight: she just stood at the door, gaping at him with a face so white it seemed made of porcelain and eyes wide with horror. His orders were to shoot anybody who belonged to the board on sight; despite that, Chris remained perfectly still, not breaking eye contact for a second. Something had clicked in his mind, an alarm had gone off. He couldn't believe who he was staring at, was about to check when-

_**Snap out of it or she'll sound the alarm!**_

In just two movements he was next to her, the woman cowering in fear when Chris looked at her again. Her eyes darted between the gun and his own gaze, her entire body shaking like a leaf. But Chris thought it over many times, more than his mind could process, and in the end he put away his weapon. His would've-been victim gasped now, a sound perhaps torn between relief and disappointment, but she said nothing. Chris frowned, releasing a shaky breath, and went past her.

"What am I supposed to say?" the woman exclaimed in forced English. "If you've let me live, how am I supposed to deal with this?" Her eyes went to him again as she stood, her legs quivering. Chris held her gaze for a moment, then,

"Say what feel like, say whatever crosses your mind... but don't say anything you might regret."

"You want me to hide_ this_?" she shrieked. "You want me to face the police without telling them I saw you?"

Chris nodded. "Exactly. I know who you are," he stated flatly, "and I can come after you. Isn't letting you alive enough for you? Or are you asking me to end your life just to avoid being blamed? Be sensible, Miss Ribisi. I think you'll do the right thing."

With that, without waiting for an answer, Chris turned on his heels and walked down the hall, leaving the woman known as Carla Ribisi to wonder what to do. As he paced, he closed his eyes, his chest seizing up in pain. He was leaving one of the board members alive either to allow her to tell the tale or just leave the event as water under the bridge. It wouldn't end smoothly, but that wasn't the reason why he hurt so badly.

_**Why did you let her live? You were supposed to kill **__**every**__** single one of them, you idiot!**_

Chris hesitated. "For a moment... I saw _her_: it was Jill..." His hand started shaking, a few more pieces falling into place. "...Staring at me."

_**She just doesn't leave your head, does she? Forget about her, she's history! She's betrayed you, remember?**_

Chris gave no reply to that furious question; he didn't need to. There was no reason to justify his actions, no reasons to explain why he'd done what he'd done.

_**That hallucination will cost you your LIFE!**_

"Not if Marco still wants me," Chris snapped, picking up speed. "Besides, I can do what I please. You've got no say in this!"

_**Oh, alright. Then who has kept you sane all this time? I could've easily let you drown in your own misery, you bastard!**_

"I'm not standing because of you."

_**I HELPED YOU, you ungrateful son of a bitch!**_

Chris didn't hesitate a second time: with a swift movement, the muzzle of his own gun was trained against his temple, eyes closed and breathing steady. This calmness belied his inner rage and turmoil, images of his past life flooding his mind.

_**You think pulling a gun on yourself will help? Face it, you're lost.**_

Chris bit on his lip as he reluctantly lowered the weapon, a familiar voice echoing all around him. _That_ was a nasty hallucination, oh yeah. Having quelled the storm inside him, Chris continued to walk.

A sigh. _**Let's get back, shall we? Let's not waste any more time or Marco will **__**really**__** ask this time.**_

But then he pulled the trigger.

–

**September 3****rd****, 2009**

**8:15 am.**

"Miss, the change!"

Rebecca shook her head and slung her purse around her shoulder. "It's okay, keep it."

She left the Dodo Café after receiving a kind 'thank you' in response and stepped into the cold morning of New York. It was early, September had just begun, but it was oddly breezy; Rebecca smiled dryly at such a fact. She started down the street, taking random sips of her coffee as she headed back to Brooklyn Bridge. For once she had been able to get out of the underground complex and see daylight for a couple of hours; it had been a mere four or five days since she'd 'left' the surface, but being under there for so long made her nervous. Also, keeping her stomach full was in her day-to-day agenda.

Her cell phone suddenly buzzed a couple of times, making Rebecca wonder who could it be. When she flipped it open, she didn't expect a message from Jill, which read: _Where're you? Just wondering._ Rebecca smiled at such a short message of concern; she sent her reply and picked up the pace, almost forgetting about the warm drink in her hand. But then, the kiosk a few meters in front of her caught her attention, since there was an unusual amount of people gathered around it. Perhaps they were just there for small talk, was Rebecca's first assumption, but when she went past it having a glance at the day's headlines, she stopped in her tracks at the sight of a specific one: **"Unexpected murder in Florence: A blow against Tricell?"**

With a knot in her stomach, Rebecca approached a middle-aged woman and asked, "Excuse me, do you know when these came in?"

She received the answer from the attendant, a black woman with a worried expression. "The papers just came in, hon. You askin' about the headline?" Rebecca nodded. "The article's pretty recent; journalists say it happened today's morning, and pretty early, too. Seems nothin' out of the ordinary, but I think otherwise."

Rebecca frowned, lowered her gaze to the article. She didn't hesitate: she bought a _The New York Times_ issue and this time ran at full pelt up South Street, ignoring her desire to read the article in the middle of the street. Everything involving Tricell meant trouble at this time and if there had been a murder _and_ if it was somehow related to Tricell, then it meant Marco or somebody else was involved... perhaps even Chris. Her heart skipped a beat at the assumption. Rebecca was at the entrance to the complex in less than five minutes, near Knickerbocker.

The ride on the elevator seemed to take ages and when the doors finally opened, Rebecca literally bumped against Claire who, when they straightened, chuckled amusedly. "What's gotten you so worked up? And where do you come from?"

Though breathless, Rebecca managed to make out an audible sentence, "Are... is everyone up?"

Claire's face changed. "Yeah. Sleep's not easy to get around here, looks like. Why?"

"Then we gotta get everyone together. There's something big going on," Rebecca told her, waving the folded newspaper in front of her face, "and it's related to Tricell."

"Tricell? Then..."

"Yeah! It must be something relevant, definitely!"

"Sherry's in her office; the others are all together, except..." Claire's voice trailed away, which let Rebecca see her annoyance, "... except Wesker, whose whereabouts are _still_ unknown."

"What do you mean 'still'?" Rebecca felt a pang of concern despite the circumstances.

"I mean he's been gone all night, that's the thing," Claire said, hands on her hips. "Knowing him, he's fine, but now would be a _very_ good time for him to be here... Odd of me to say that, right?"

Rebecca cracked a light smirk, then headed to Sherry's office with Claire. They met Leon and Jill along the way and the group was once more complete. Claire knocked on the door twice, which earned her an intent 'Yeah?' from Sherry. Claire was the first one to step in, allowing Rebecca to get a glance of the inside.

"We've got news, and it's important," she stated, not giving anybody time to react. Through the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Wesker, who was standing 'in the sidelines' and half hidden in the dark. She heard Claire mutter something in annoyance, to which she smirked inwardly.

"Okay, sure," Sherry agreed as Leon and Jill stepped inside. "What's going on?"

Rebecca proceeded to explain herself. "Well, whilst I was outside for reasons you'll all consider natural, this article caught my attention as I went past a kiosk. The same moment I saw Tricell mentioned in the headline, I knew it was related to Chris."

Everybody was suddenly tense, more than ever before. The atmosphere could be cut with a knife.

"Tricell?" Leon echoed. "What does it say?"

"'Unexpected murder in Florence: A blow against Tricell?'" Rebecca read aloud. "That's what it says. There should be a photograph inside or something; I didn't have time to check."

"It is possible, considering one of the main labs is in Florence," Wesker intervened. "About the victim, is there any information?"

Rebecca sensed Jill creeping up on her, standing beside her to check the article over Rebecca's shoulder. Rebecca had a thorough look at the pictures: one was of the murder scene, blood spatters matting the ground, and then next to that one was that of the victim. She was red-haired, her hair resting at shoulder length, and dark eyes gleaming with something similar to anxiety. A loud gasp left Jill's lips afterwards, drawing the rest's attention to herself.

"What's wrong?" came Sherry's question.

It took Jill a few moments to reply. "...It's Greene. The victim's Maria Greene."

"That... that's not possible!" Sherry argued, her eyes wide. Even Wesker seemed to have been stirred out of his usual impassiveness. As the conversation went on, Rebecca skimmed through the most important parts of the article.

"Greene?"

"One of Marco's closest associates," Sherry explained. "She's completely irrelevant for those outside our circle, the circle encompassing Rho, Tricell and others. For her name to have gotten out to the public, that must've been the journalists' doing... But why?" Sherry leaned on her desk, her head lowered. "Of all the people that could've been chosen…"

"Identity-wise, her documents must've been looked up, most likely; that's not a far fetch," Jill stated, nodding.

"And most importantly, who did it?" Leon piped up. "Though... we can go to the worst case scenario and stick to it, because I for one wouldn't like beating around the bush."

"The press isn't usually to be trusted, but I certainly don't think this is an article written just to entertain the public," Wesker said, turning to Sherry. "For some unfathomable reason, Marco has had one of his most trusted people killed. I can only suspect it's a job he left to Chris."

Claire stiffened, a fleeting moment of shock across her features. "That's a bit of a quick change in trust, isn't it? It hasn't even been a week since Chris left with him and they're completely in cahoots now? I don't trust this."

"If we consider the time window and the few associates Marco has, it's pretty plausible," Sherry stated. "Perhaps one of the reasons was her involvement with David, but I don't think he ever told her anything..."

"Unless he let his tongue slip," Wesker interjected pointedly, "which wouldn't be surprising."

Sherry frowned at his words, her lips thinning. "We all make mistakes once in a while; we had compromised a lot of things, I admit so."

"So the whole 'A blow to Tricell' thing is something the press made up..." Jill reasoned to herself, rubbing her chin. After a few seconds, she said, snapping her fingers, "He's got to be prompting us."

"What?" Rebecca breathed out, surprised at Jill's assumption. The others simply stared at her. "How? I don't see a reason why. What would he prompt us for?"

"There _doesn't have_ to be a reason, Rebecca, that's the thing," Jill countered, firm. "The whole murder itself doesn't make any sense! It's like Claire said: the balance has been shifted much too quickly! Unless it was some kind of sick game Marco's playing with Chris -or even with all of us-, then it's perfectly sensible. Okay, Marco may very well be a quick thinker, but this is too sudden. This has to be a sign."

"A sign?"

Jill nodded. "Yes. There's something more to this. This is a plan Marco's got going, nothing more. The murder was planned to either attract our attention or divert it; whichever the case, I think he's got us right where he wants us."

Rebecca lowered her head, tempted to bite at her thumbnail like she usually did when nervous. More that the fact of Marco moving against them and _fast_, Rebecca was afraid of knowing that it had been actually Chris who had murdered Greene -someone she had never heard about-. Chris would've never killed an innocent; he would've never killed _anyone_, be it innocent or not, in cold blood or not. She sighed, feeling her legs go weak all of a sudden, and closed her eyes.

"Do you think it was Chris who did it? ..._Really_?" she asked, feeling like an idiot afterwards.

"Nobody else. Marco wouldn't get his hands dirty," Claire replied, crossing her arms. "I'd say it's been to test him, to see if Chris is up for the task." Then, in a flash, Claire's face fell in horrified shock, shock she passed over to Leon when she looked at him. "Oh, dear God… It's not true..."

"...What task is that?" he asked her, his voice low.

As if on cue, a soft rapping was heard and Jean-Jacques tentatively went inside. He also seemed flustered, a frown across his features and anxiety in his eyes. "Miss Birkin, we've got a problem: it's Tricell's executive board... they're all dead."

Rebecca could've been about to throw up if it wasn't for her self-control; her stomach had knotted up and then churned. The levels of tension spiked incredibly, without mercy.

"..._That_ task, it seems," came Wesker's remark, cold and amused at the same time. "I knew that strike would come. If that's their plan, then they're going nicely."

"B-But why?" Leon intervened. "Killing the executive board would only mean sinking the company."

"Which... would allow Marco to keep a low profile," Rebecca said this time after long minutes of silence. "That's why he had Greene killed!"

"Like it happened with WilPharma... letting it sink so that other companies buy it," Leon reasoned, nodding in reluctant acknowledgement.

"It was clear WilPharma was going to sink," Wesker added, scoffing, "but this is just too much. Eleven lives in a single night? This sounds _very_ planned to me. Perhaps one or two, but eleven and with such a narrow time window?"

Maria Greene, one of Marco's closest affiliates, and now the executive board. If it was a prompt, then it might as well have been a joke. Rebecca released a long sigh, trying desperately to calm herself down before anyone noticed. She imagined how the murder could've taken place out of instinct, which made nothing to settle her uneasiness down. It was unimaginable... To think that your best friend and mentor was now a hired hit, killing to obtain a reward nobody was sure that actually existed.

She glanced up at Claire who, unexpectedly and not even caring about the people present, stormed out of the room and out of sight. Leon called after her, then left at full pelt in hopes of catching up to her. Rebecca didn't know what shocked her the most: the past events or Claire's reaction. She'd seen her so impassive, so strong and unwavering, so _changed_ that Rebecca had never expected something such as that. She didn't even notice Jean-Jacques leaving and Jill closing the door to allow unwanted ears to overhear.

But why did they want her to remain with them? Weren't Leon and Claire as important as her?

"She's not taking it too well, it seems," Wesker said about Claire. Jill shrugged, shaking her head slightly. "And I can see you aren't either."

"How do you want me to take it?" Jill snapped back with what Rebecca noticed to be fierceness. Wesker frowned, his lips forming a thin line. "How do you want _us_ to take it, huh? I know it hasn't been long since we last saw him but it's horrible to see the first news we come up with are those!"

"We just need to accept and use them to our favor," he replied, calm. "Perhaps they've moved to Florence this time and not Venice. There are infinite possibilities concerning how it may have turned out, but I'd wager this is their first message. It may not be the last, though."

"They could've picked a better presentation, don't you think?" Sherry scoffed, smirking bitterly. "In any case, at least we've got something. We can start moving."

Wesker shook his head. "I wouldn't recommend it," he said, stern.

"We need to make sure it _is_ Florence where they are," Rebecca stated. "We could split up but it's a reckless option."

"Not with Chris in his state, yeah..." Jill acknowledged, running a hand through her hair. "So it's a bit more of waiting for us?"

"I'm afraid so," Sherry spoke with a reluctant nod, "but this is a start, a lead. We just need to follow it accurately so we don't get lost."

"Slightly Alice-esque, but yes."

Rebecca looked at Jill who, judging by the direction she was facing and how narrowed her eyes were, was looking at Wesker, and it was certain he was returning the look. She didn't have a lot of knowledge of how they'd been faring -she didn't need it-, but it was clear the situation was precarious. Jill's tone sometimes had proven to be stern, hard and unusually cold. Rebecca then felt as if an anvil was hanging from her chest: it became heavy, heavier than ever before, which made her lose her composure again. Tears pricked at her eyes; she fought them back. She had to get out of there.

"I'm going to check up on Claire, okay?" she told everyone.

She received a nod from Jill, a firm 'Okay' from Sherry and Wesker's usual silence; with that, it was obvious she had a green light. She tried to exit the room as calmly as possible but the way she turned right betrayed her inner feelings and thoughts; that much she knew for sure. And then, when she was alone, the lump that suddenly formed at her throat made her tears flow, reducing her to a state she had long thought forgotten. She was a doctor, an official Ph.D with many surgery and hospital experiences in her resumé, and hospital staff were known for seeing life in a very different way, to reject emotions when necessary. Rebecca had gone through many deaths of some patients at the hospital she'd been working until now, deaths that hadn't moved her, but it was different this time. This time, she could afford to cry.

Instead of checking on her friends, Rebecca headed for her room or some other place where she could be by herself. Along the way she sobbed silently, repeatedly wiping her cheeks dry because of the annoying sticky feeling. She felt alone, more than ever: seeing everyone torn apart was the salt being rubbed on her own bleeding wounds. Part of her wanted to blame Chris for everything, for leaving them in such a state right when he was needed the most, but on the other hand Rebecca knew help didn't last forever; Chris wouldn't always be there with them. It was impossible to blame him for actions that weren't even fully deliberate, actions that had been dictated as though protocol, actions that went against his own nature. And she missed him, she missed him terribly. The feeling she'd had when she'd seen him after Jill's funeral three years ago returned and more intense than before: back there, she'd felt Chris had had his heart torn in a half; now, she felt as if he'd had it ripped out of his chest.

Unfeeling... cold.

Rebecca let her tears flow and sobs painfully rack her body. Nobody heard her.

Nobody _could_ hear her.

–

He had never seen such a stern gaze.

Wesker had barely broken eye contact with Jill, whose eyes were close to being ice walls and had a glint of fierceness, even defiance, in them. Perhaps there was also rage, frustration, but that knowledge was reserved for her alone. Which made him think, why couldn't he figure out what she was thinking? Why was it that despite he saw that which her eyes harbored, he couldn't tell what was roaming her mind? He was no mind-reader, but the eyes were often the reflection of the mind and soul. Wesker had to admit the prospect of losing his skills frightened him.

His eyes felt heavy all of a sudden, his shades hiding involuntary movements that would give away his current state. His strength was almost unmatchable, but even three nights in a row without sleeping could deal blows to it, and they were already showing off.

The silence went on for a bit longer until Sherry said, "I suppose you're in good company, so I can very well say that you should get some rest." Wesker snapped his head at Sherry, who smirked. "You're not made of glass, you know. I heard you going out last night and you just got here an hour ago, so go rest."

Wesker was tempted to sigh at his apparent -and then obvious- lack of choices but held the gesture back; instead, he nodded and asked before leaving, "I trust you'll handle everything?"

It was Sherry's turn to nod this time. "Sure. I'll be on the lookout, then put you up to speed," she reassured him, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. "You can count on me. I haven't done this kind of thing in donkey's ages, but you know me: observe and adapt."

Wesker turned and left, Jill following behind him after a few seconds. He faced her and said, "Something the matter?"

"I've been worried about you," Jill replied, placing herself in front of him. "This is the third night, Wesker, the third night you haven't even closed an eye."

"It's merely a rough patch; there's nothing you should be worried about," he told her, trying to sound as convincing as possible so as to get her off his back. But as he suspected, Jill didn't let the matter go at the first reply she got. "I will be fine; sooner or later it happens."

Jill said nothing, remained staring at him in distrust and worry, and Wesker didn't move to leave. Instead, he waited; he knew she was going to say something, but what? And most important... did he care? "Is it because..." She sighed, her facade dropping. "This is all getting to you, I know it. I don't have a say in how you should take things, I know, but-"

Wesker stiffened almost unwillingly. "If you're assuming I'm taking this personally, I'm sorry to disappoint you." With that he walked past her, unable to stand her presence any longer.

"You're contradicting yourself, can't you see?" Jill asked, shocked. Wesker faced her, slightly baring his teeth at her in a low hiss. In spite knowing how unnatural of him it was to do that, to show his feelings so easily, he nevertheless did it. "I know how you're reacting, Wesker; dammit, even _you_ told me!"

"Then I will take that back if it's necessary, but I will not stand for this!" he snapped back. "You don't know me as much as you claim to, Jill; that I can guarantee you." Jill was still reeling from his words, eyes wide and brow furrowed. "I will do whatever it takes to see this through, whether it's to your liking or not."

This time, Wesker did put an end to their argument: he turned on his heels and walked back to his room. He didn't know if Jill demanded something from him afterwards or not... he wasn't even sure his own words had made any sense. Once inside the space he could consider 'safe', Wesker rested his back against the wall and knocked his head twice against it, feeling how the pain somewhat numbed his inner turmoil like ice on a wound. Something wasn't right; whether it was with him or the world around him, he didn't know for sure. Uncertainty surrounded him; he didn't _know_ anymore, and it was the perfect scenario for a throbbing headache to settle in.

Madness, obsession, lack of self-control.

_What's happening to me...?_

_

* * *

_

_A/N: Alrighty, we got some instability floating around everyone like a dark cloud raining over them. They'll clear off, yes, but some will in unexpected ways. Just you wait till you see what's going on with Wesker and Chris; you shall see. _

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	5. Chapter III: Crash

**Author's Note:** Oh yes, early update this week. Nothing else to say other than enjoy^^

**Disclaimer: The usual.**

* * *

III

Crash

_Again, it happens_

**8:35 am.**

"Claire, wait!"

But Claire wouldn't listen, wouldn't look back at Leon. She was upset, distraught, broken by every last even that had transpired. She had sworn to herself that she wouldn't break now that it was her obligation to remain strong, she had sworn to herself that she'd remain loyal to her brother and would free him from his torment... but all those vows had been shattered to pieces by two simple pieces of news. Claire had always had a very clear mental image of who Chris was and all that was part of him, and feeling how that image was dispelled to be replaced by another was something she couldn't take. It was overwhelming, unbelievable.

"Claire!" A hand caught hold of her arm and came to be face-to-face with Leon, but she immediately swatted his hand away. Leon stopped dead in his tracks, taken aback by her gesture; Claire couldn't care less about what he thought. He couldn't understand, he couldn't, he _wouldn't_-

"Claire, please..."

"No, Leon!" she protested as she turned her back to him. Her urge to scream that word thousands of times was inevitable; she wanted to let everything out already and not care who the burden fell upon. She wanted someone to listen to her, to help her, to-

"No what, Claire?" he shot back. "You haven't even heard me say anything, for crying out loud!" Leon circled her and searched for her gaze, which she wasn't willing to fix upon his.

_But why?_

"I know what you're going to say!" Claire exclaimed, shaking her head. "You're just going to try and console me and keep my pain at bay! It's not gonna work! It-it's not…"

_Since when was she so reluctant?_

"Then what do _you_ want, dammit?" Leon took her by the arms. "Are you willing to lock yourself up again? To keep everything bottled up? Don't make me feel like a fifth wheel, Claire; I just need you to open up! Don't make the same mistake as Chris!"

Claire was momentarily left speechless, gasping in indignation at the mention of her brother's name. That was a very, _very_ low blow, and Leon would pay.

"_Don't_ bring him up into this!" she demanded, stepping away from his hold. But Leon's features only hardened, in a way she hadn't seen before in him. She nevertheless stood her ground, not willing to be deterred by his behavior and demeanor.

"I have _every_ right to bring him up," he stated, his voice low and stern. "I also know him, not as well as you, but I do, and I know how disastrous it can be to keep everything to yourself and not share it when there's help being offered to you. What you achieve is allowing every problem and emotion to gnaw at you, to corrode you to a point where you can't take it _anymore_!"

"Don't patronize me! I know that perfectly!"

"Then why do you let it happen, huh?" Leon countered, hitting a spot. "Do you want to avoid me so badly? I'm trying to _help_ you!" Something clicked inside Claire, a morbid realization hitting her. Leon reached for her once more, taking her face in his hands. "I just... I just want to get you back, Claire."

She stared at him in surprise. "Get me... back? Wh-what do you mean?" This time she didn't move away, almost tempted to lean into his warm touch. The storm inside her was being calmed, all of her thoughts being rearranged, which was the reason behind her silence and mood swing.

"You've changed, that's what I mean, and... I'm-"

It was clear enough for her, so Claire placed a hand on his chest to keep him from talking. "I understand." She then remained silent, taking Leon's hands in hers as the roller-coaster her emotions had been until now came to a stop. She had to be sensible: she would never allow anything to harm their relationship, not when they'd gone through so much together. Sacrificing it for her selfishness and search for self-pity was a reckless decision, not to mention deadly. In the end, she sighed.

"I'm sorry, I... I never meant to act so strangely. I-I myself didn't know what I was feeling all this time," she told him, leaning into his embrace as she spoke. It felt like morphine calming an aching wound, like rain weakening the flames of a raging fire; in short, better than ever before. She felt him rest his temple against her forehead, something usual of him.

"It's alright. I can't forgive anything that doesn't need to be forgiven," he replied, his voice a bit husky. "You just have to trust me; I myself am a bundle of nerves lately. We need to stick together, y'know, can't leave each other aside."

Claire didn't feel like saying anything in reply; instead she remained there, in Leon's arms, finding confidence and hope. She was smart; she knew better than to harm him in _any_ way. They couldn't break apart; not now, not ever. But now, the one who broke _down_ was her, like a building crumbling down. Tears she had held back finally flowed.

"I'm scared, Leon..." she told him, opening up like both of them wanted her to do. "I want to get him back so badly but I'm not strong enough... I even hesitated when I had to pull the trigger." Images of said action flashed through her mind again, reminding her of the despair she'd been seized by before the prospect of shooting her own brother to, ironically, protect his nemesis. That would surely go as a grudge for Chris.

"You can't cower behind a brick wall when it comes to emotions, especially not like you've been doing these days," Leon replied, stroking her hair. "It hurts, it always hurts, but I can tell you that it always hurts the most when you can't feel the pain. Face it with integrity; you can't lose yourself to this."

Claire nodded, releasing a sigh to calm herself down. Leon was right; most of the time, he was. "Thank you... I needed this."

"Everybody needs it once in a while; don't worry," he told her, affectionately rubbing her back. That had always instilled relief in Claire and it didn't fail this time either. His words brought Chris' image to his mind and made her curse the many times she hadn't been by his side. Of course, she wasn't to blame because of his long absences swathed in secrecy, but she nevertheless regretted it.

She had to get him back. She _would_.

* * *

"Managed no word out of him?"

Jill spun around, slightly startled by Sherry's sudden appearance, and nodded in disappointment. "None."

Sherry tucked her hands inside her pockets and shrugged, smiling somehow wistfully. "You know how much he likes bottling things up, but that'll come to bite him in the ass one day, that's for sure." Jill couldn't help a smirk at that remark, finding herself agreeing with it. "He's been acting very strange lately and he won't talk to me either. He's or superficial or silent like a tomb; he doesn't stray from that lane."

"He hasn't sleep at all these three nights, not even for thirty minutes," Jill told her, unsure of whether Sherry knew about that or not. "He always goes out if it happens. It's an habit in him to stroll at night if he can't sleep, but three nights in a row... It's not normal."

Jill placed herself next to Sherry, who didn't break eye contact with her. "He did mention restless sleep, but nothing more. I wouldn't like to say it's nightmares which keep him from sleeping."

"Nightmares?" Jill winced at the pang of worry that struck her chest. "Not that I think he's immune to them, but I never thought they'd be so recurring in him. He's told me of a few, very random, but not in such a constant pattern." She frowned at Sherry. "Do you have any idea of the reason behind it?"

Sherry clearly hesitated, then shook her head. "No... not a very solid one, at least."

Cocking an eyebrow, Jill pressed on, "So you _have_ it, be it slight or not? If that's the case, I have to know; I need to crack a hole in his defenses, find what's going on."

Sherry's features mellowed somehow, a faint smile on her lips. "He'll most likely tell _you_ first rather than me," she remarked, her tone wistful and concerned, "but I understand that. Jill... I've spent almost half of my life by his side and I've never _ever_ seen him like this. Sure, he could've shown himself to be upset a few times or bothered by something that had gone wrong, but this state is different."

_I'll say; he's snappier by the minute._

"Please, do me a favor and help him in whatever way you can."

Jill, taken aback by such a request, grew slightly suspicious. "...You trust me?"

"Wesker hardly ever trusts anyone," Sherry said. "I can see he's placed an unimaginable amount of faith and trust in you though, so I don't see why I should do otherwise. I'm not getting carried along; it's just that my trust in you has grown stronger."

"Alright, thank you," Jill spoke with a kind nod. Sherry returned the nod and stepped back into her office, inviting Jill inside once more. There, she asked, "So what's that idea you have?"

"He's told you about the Wesker Children project, hasn't he?" Sherry asked in return. Jill nodded. "He must've also told you that he has random memories of his past, events that seemingly have no sense but in reality they do." Jill nodded once more. Sherry fell silent, turned her gaze away from her. "When I got him back from Africa and whilst he was convalescent after the many surgeries, I received several pieces of evidence that proved a single fact, a fact that changed it all: he suffered from amnesia. Little by little, he started remembering you, Chris and my father among others; he began to place bits and pieces of his past together... but it wasn't until I mentioned -or rather, he found out- something about Spencer that his memory came back."

"All of it?" Jill inquired, stepping closer.

Sherry shook her head. "Only those memories he was aware he had, nothing more."

"So he didn't get back any information about himself aside from the one he knew?" The idea of such fact frightened Jill. "God..."

"If something's gnawing at him, my bet would be repressed memories, maybe even faux ones," Sherry stated, her voice firm but also worried. A tickling sensation went down Jill's chest, which then settled as a knot in her stomach. She knew and remembered Wesker had told him his life had been mostly manipulated, every action leading him a step closer to Spencer, but if that manipulation also involved repressed memories... then she didn't dare imagine how horrible those could be.

"But why would he repress his own memories? Did he want to escape his past that badly?" Jill asked Sherry, who shook her head again.

"That's not what I meant. I'd also wager those memories weren't _self_-repressed; they forced him to forget so that he believed he had always been and would be like he was. Perhaps they even made him believe he had _no past_ at all," Sherry corrected. Jill couldn't stifle a gasp. "Spencer must've made sure of that. After all, Wesker was the most brilliant of them all, with a potential nobody expected."

"Spencer didn't want him to go rogue," Jill realized in shock. "That vile son of a..." She looked up at Sherry. "So you think it's due to that? Memories that are haunting him again?"

"That'd be my guess, yeah." Sherry sighed. "I've tried to discuss this with him, but he never said anything about it. Either he really doesn't know or he's hiding it; whichever it is, you'll have to find out." It was in that moment that Jill realized how Sherry was placing herself at her own level. "Please, keep an eye out on him for me, will you? I... I only have him left."

Jill approached Sherry and laid a hand on her shoulder, which made the Birkin lift her gaze up at her. Jill had just seen a photograph of her father, William, but she could tell both Sherry and him had always had the hopeful gaze Sherry had right then. She was hoping Jill would do something, and she understood: Wesker had been the link that had kept the family both together and apart. Having in mind what had happened to Sherry back in Raccoon City, it was acceptable that if Wesker had never been there for her, she wouldn't have survived.

"I will, don't worry."

Sherry smiled. "Thank you."

"I'll let the day go by; I don't want to storm in and raise suspicion," Jill said, leaving the offer hanging in the air. "I'll talk to him at night; perhaps then I'll get something out of him."

Jill also smiled then, and she didn't know why.

"He owes me a few answers too, after all."

* * *

_Her voice sounded so distant, so faint, like a deafening cacophony. His vision was still spinning and blurry, his body felt like the heaviest rock in the world, and he felt as if his brain had been disconnected from his body. He had only regained awareness, he soon understood, but not mobility; he was still bound by numbness' shackles and there was no way he could break free of them. _

_Whose voice had he heard in some corner of his mind? It was so very familiar, a sweet and caring tone he hadn't heard in a very long time. Had it really been like that though? Had he really spent that long without hearing her, without hearing anything? When had been the last time since she had _seen_ her, for that matter? He felt tempted to remember, to smile when remembering her image. _

_Something was wrong though._

"_CHRIS!"_

_And Chris convulsed in agony._

XX

Chris himself did nothing but scream, the pain tearing his heart and soul to pieces. No more memories, no more pain, no more_ nothing_, but his requests fell on deaf ears. Would this be his punishment, crueler than Hell's flames?

If he had control over his mind, then why couldn't he stop the flow of images?

"Let me go! Why? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?"

_**BECAUSE I CAN!**_

XX

_It is in man's nature to be good; society corrupts him...__** "Well, I'm the new one here. Jill Valentine."**__... Determination leads you to your goal... __**"Heh, what can go wrong this time? We're pros, remember?"**__... Seek and ye shall find... __**"You son of a bitch!"**__... One blow after the other, it never ends... __**"We keep going..."**__... Sometimes wishing for death is inevitable... __**"He's still out there..."**__... An endless tunnel with no light... __**"We'll make it through this, Jill, I promise..."**__... One step behind your enemy... __**"He's still ahead of us! It's no use, Chris!"**__... Giving up is sometimes the better choice... __**"Let's do this, for everyone, for us."**__... Lacking means is tantamount to failing..._

_Power._

XX

_**I'm not going to let you go. Didn't I tell you I could put you up to a punishment worse than Hell itself? I can manipulate you, I can manipulate your imagination to extents you can't grasp, and that's my advantage. And for the record, you yourself accepted this: THIS is the risk it entails. You can't escape it, not even if you almost pulled the trigger on yourself; it's useless.**_

"B-But why do I have to forget? I don't _want_ to! DON'T FORCE ME!"

_**I will force you if it's necessary; do you think I'm going to let you get away with this? Don't YOU force your opinions on me because I will argue if I don't like them... and THIS is how I argue, Chris.**_

_One step behind your enemy... __**"He's still ahead of us! It's no use, Chris!"**__... Giving up is sometimes the better choice... __**"Let's do this, for everyone, for us."**__... Lacking means is tantamount to failing..._

_Power._

* * *

Rebecca had never expected something like a letter at this time.

She had been alone in her room, tempted every second that went by to resort to Valium or Lexotan to calm her nerves. Pacing and then lying down had been her best bet, a procedure she had followed with no problem; she had also dozed off for a few minutes. When she woke up, walked to her small suitcase and fished a jacket out, something had fallen out of its pocket at the same time she was putting it on. Rebecca picked the object up, a sheet of paper folded four times, and quickly zipped up her jacket before proceeding to read it.

The same moment she saw the handwriting, she froze in her spot.

It was _Chris's_ handwriting.

For a moment she hesitated, took the paper out of her sight before her heart started pounding again, but then shook her head hastily: she had to pull through; she couldn't hide in the broom closet forever. Then, tentatively, she unfolded the paper again and started reading, a lump in her letter read as such, some words crossed out or blurred:

_**I really hope you find this, Rebecca. There's nobody else I can address at the moment.**_

_**I don't know what's gonna happen to me now that I'm changing, I really don't, but you should know that it'll be difficult for you to trust me; I even doubt you'll take this letter seriously. I'm writing at full pelt because I've managed to turn back to myself, but I sense it won't be for long. I just have to tell you that I'm insane: I know I'm literally losing my mind.**_

_**I need your help. Marco and I will move to (22-5-14-9-3-5) shortly, so that's where you've got to go. I need your help; I need everyone's help. Whenever you can, tell Jill that she's my only hope of surviving this ordeal, so is Claire. They're the only ones who can truly help when it comes to my mind; they're my sole links to sanity. I keep trying to forget about them but I realize that's not what I have to do. It hurts, it hurts so much.**_

_**Please, Rebecca, be quick. I don't know how much I've got left.**_

It wasn't signed; it didn't even have a date, so it was difficult to know when he'd written it.

Rebecca gasped, taking a hand to her mouth and fighting back another wave of tears. It was true; Wesker had been right.

They were in for _one hell_ of a ride.

* * *

Tears came, flowing almost in a frenzy. He sensed the painful pangs of regret and nostalgia, the ardent desire to return to _the_ world and escape from his own, which was always in darkness that pulled him down into its maw. A childish way of wanting something took hold of him: he wanted to be there with them, back with those who had been his friends, his life... a life he had wasted in selfish obsession. He missed them, Chris missed them so much...

_**What about what you want? Nothing ventured, nothing gained! You're about to get yourself back, don't you realize that?**_

"But why does getting myself back means _reconstructing_ myself? I'm-I'm not broken!" Sobs racked his body; it was impossible to hold back sorrow. "I... I want this to end, I want to be myself again..."

_**Don't be childish! If you want something, you must GO FOR IT! It won't come to you so easily!**_

XX

_As their mouths parted, Jill nudged her nose against his, which caused him to enter a blissful state of obliviousness to everything. _

_He was left only to focus on Jill's face, her hair, her eyes, her cheeks, her lips; on Jill and everything she was._

XX

_**Remembering, are we? Focus on what you have at hand! Leave them BEHIND!**_

But Chris couldn't, not when his yearning to turn back triggered feelings he had long thought forgotten, lost in oblivion to be replaced by stronger ones, but they were feelings that were nonetheless no match for those that Chris felt resurfacing within him.

And the mix was driving him _literally_ insane.

_**Annihilate what threatens to destroy you.**_

"No..."

_**It's their memory which is tearing you apart! KILL THEM and it will truly be over!**_

"I CAN'T DO THAT!" Chris yelled out, wrapping his arms around his stomach in an attempt to console _himself_. "It's not... I can't... Th-they're my life..."

_**They're OBSTACLES in it, nothing more. **_

"No..."

_**Then you've already failed.**_

* * *

_A/N: Some of us are already losing our marbles, eh? xD We'll get to Wesker in the next chapter, and I'm also introducing the surprise character I should've introduced in DoU's extra epilogue... but didn't appear because of time restraints. I hope it's all going good so far x3_

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_

_PS: Is it good to have only six chapters and have 41 pages in total? (which makes a good lot of 29,508 words) xDD_


	6. Chapter IV: Forerunner

**Author's Note: **Alrighty, update! Here we find out what's going on with Wesker and also, surprise character comes up. Let's see if this clears up a bit of what's happening but also adds more questions to your list xD Also, this surprise character has no kind of minor role: hers (yeah, it's a she) is a big one, one that will influence the course of Jill & Co.'s actions, so stay sharp. At the same time, I'd like to hear any theories you have conjured up; I like to know people are interested^^ Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: The usual.**

* * *

IV

Forerunner

_Time's creation_

_The kid wouldn't be older than her, fact that was both proved by his height and how he was gripping the sleeve of his father's sweater with apprehension in his gray eyes. She cocked her head at him, frowning and pouting at such behavior, which caused the boy to also frown and stick his tongue at her. She smirked, laughed afterwards, and turned to look up at her mother, Leah, with that same smirk. _

"_I like him."_

"_Y-you like me?" the boy asked in disbelief from behind his father. She smiled more widely, nodded, then stepped forward and placed her hands on her hips. _

"_Yup." Her reply seemed to calm him down, since he showed himself to be more relaxed and he also took a few step forwards, not without looking first at his father with his undying apprehension. His father, to which the boy bore an inevitable and uncanny resemblance, nodded with a kind smile. It was what the boy needed to grin._

"_I-I'm Oliver. N-Nice to meet you," Oliver said, extending his hand towards her. But she was neither surprised nor at ease with such presentation, and she frowned again. Oliver's smile faded, his resolve faltering. "Um..."_

"_Amanda?" called her mother, concerned._

_But Amanda paid no attention to her parents and strode away, tears in her eyes._

_They were both eight years old._

X

"_Hey, Al."_

_Amanda turned to see Oliver standing behind her, looking at her with a mild frown and an equally mild smile on his features. She didn't know why she didn't feel anything after seeing him, considering he'd been hospitalized for almost two weeks because of a severe case of pneumonia. Amanda had gone to visit him a few times and of all those times, they didn't talk to each other for almost half of them. Here he was, having just returned from the hospital, expecting a greeting; well, he wouldn't get it. Silent, Amanda turned her gaze to their lawn once more and stayed unmoving. _

_Oliver sat down beside her, uncaring. "You're still holding that grudge against me?" Amanda pouted, looking away and still mute. "Amanda, please-"_

"_You didn't even seem to care," Amanda suddenly snapped. "You introduced yourself like it was something else; we-we... Oliver, I wanted to see my brother there, not a stranger!" Oliver stared at her in surprise, momentarily silent. Amanda looked away from him once more, angrier than before, and brought her knees up to her chest. "My mom married your dad, so we're not _truly_ brother and sister, but we are in a way."_

_Oliver sighed audibly, then Amanda felt his arm around her shoulders. "I didn't know how to begin, Al. I-I thought you were also scared about having... you know, a brother that wasn't yours."_

_Finally, Amanda dropped her facade and met Oliver's gaze. "I didn't want to be alone all my life. Since my dad left us, it was more difficult for me to make friends-"_

"_-because you didn't want to make them, yeah?" Oliver finished for her, smiling a bit more and stroking the top of Amanda's head. She was surprised at such a gesture of kindness, something that almost moved her to tears. "It's okay, it's not your fault. It gets difficult sometimes. But we're together now, Al, and I love you very much. You know, I always wanted to talk to you when I was in the hospital but I never knew what to talk to you about."_

"_Oliver..."_

_Oliver grinned and pulled her into a tight embrace. Amanda finally felt safe and complete._

_They were both ten years old._

–

And now, Amanda Leah Graves was thirty-three, as well as her brother who rested in much belated peace.

The news of her brother's death had come merely two months ago, in his thirty-fourth's eve. She had spent almost a year without seeing Oliver and just two days before his coming home, he was killed. Dead, _dead_, and Amanda couldn't believe it; she didn't want to. The morbid realization dawned upon her at his funeral, which made her open her eyes to the truth: he was dead and, unlike it happened with the pneumonia he made it out of, _he was never coming back. _She hadn't cried, she had said no words in his honor, for it was all more personal that the people gathered there could've ever imagined; they had _no need _to know what she had to say.

She sighed, leaned back in her chair and took out her pocket-watch, to which she stared at for several seconds. Inside, there was a photograph of her and Oliver... the day of his promotion to captain. She had been there, specifically having flown from Montana to New York just to be there with him, and it was one of the days she most enjoyed. The photo showed her, dressed in formal clothes -and Oliver's favorites-; him, in a simple but elegant gray suit and someone else, someone to whom she paid no attention. Amanda focused on Oliver, at the time twenty-eight, and his bright eyes, his naturally spiky hair, his casual and warm smile. She would miss him alright.

The person who stood beside him, looking at Oliver rather than at the camera, _had_ to hold the answers concerning Oliver's death: those had been Amanda's thoughts the day after Oliver's funeral. She knew that that person, Chris Redfield, had something to do with it. He and Oliver had been colleagues and close friends, judging by what Oliver had told Amanda in letters and phone calls; if that was the case, it was literally impossible for Redfield to be none the wiser. And Amanda was looking for him, trying to figure out a way to get her hands on him and consequently, the answers to her questions. Amanda clutched the watch against her chest, her will unfaltering. She knew it would be difficult to find Chris, but that didn't stop her.

After the BSAA's official dismantlement because of a mission gone wrong and members of the European branch having gone AWOL, the thousands of entities that had formed it -especially the Original Eleven- were kept top-secret by the Consortium and the US Government, which held most of the classified files. It was then that Amanda's dream was broken, but time's victory would be short-lived. She had been at several press conferences due to her being a reporter and there were many people who understood her cause, Sheva Alomar and Josh Stone among others. She officially met them at the conference given by the Consortium's representative and member of Tricell's executive board Carla Ribisi, where they exchanged information and shared their common goal.

Jill Valentine was the name Amanda was given as a clue, a lead.

The mission that had gone wrong had involved her and Chris, during which Chris was reportedly KIA but then found as alive; those had been Sheva's words. The BSAA had allowed someone to meddle in their affairs, to support Tricell without anybody knowing, and that had cost them the world's protection. The remaining branches, except the American and the European, formed a new entity, nameless to the public and kept under secrecy. Amanda and the group she recruited were the leaders; they were the _new_ BSAA, better and stronger. And better yet, illegal. They had neither the support nor the authorization from the local governments to form such an alliance, but that was the least of their concerns. It was all about planning and keeping tabs; nothing would escape them.

"You haven't eaten anything, have you?" Amanda perked up her head at the door, where she found her closest and only friend: Allen Keyes.

She smiled. "No, not yet. I guess I lost track of time," she replied, standing up and locking up a stack of folders inside a drawer. Allen chuckled, light-hearted.

"It doesn't surprise me," he remarked, crossing his arms. "And here I am, wondering if you'd do me the favor of accompanying me to the usual place... unless you're too busy, that is."

"At all. In fact, I think my stomach will send its warning very soon, so I agree," Amanda said, nodding and approaching Allen. He frowned slightly, but Amanda held his gaze.

"Still wondering about what we're gonna do?" he asked, to which Amanda remained silent. "Look, Strangelove, we need to take this slowly. If it's going to keep stuffing your mind with unnecessary stuff -and long live repetitions-, then I might as well lock you up inside the broom closet without a single pen whatsoever so you get the shit bored out of ya."

"I appreciate your candor, Allen," Amanda quipped, sarcastic. Allen bowed his head, clearly stifling a burst of laughter. "You don't take me seriously? I'm being honest; it's not sarcasm or anything."

"I'm just worried, that's all. Please tell me you're not going anorexic here."

That was the last straw. "For your information," Amanda began, annoyed, "I wouldn't be as senseless as to make my ass look like a couple of almonds! Who do you think I am, for crying out loud?"

Allen had been laughing as she'd spoken and didn't care to stop. "Giselle Bundchen?"

His response triggered laughter from Amanda herself, who then rubbed her neck as they both calmed down. "But hey, I appreciate it. So, we get going?" she asked, and Allen nodded. "Want me to help you?"

"Nah, I can handle the chair myself," Allen replied, nonchalant. "I'll just need your help in ramps and such; they're my arms' nightmare."

"Oh, and Allen?"

"Hm?"

"Don't you _ever_ call me 'Strangelove' again or I'll send 'em Ruskies after ya."

More laughter eased her uneasiness. Amanda smiled as they headed outside the computer room.

Perhaps a bit of time off things would do her some good.

–

_The mirror shattered... __**"You won't serve us for any purpose at all!"**__…__A look in the mirror was all he needed to know what he was made of... __**"Don't do this! He's just a child!"**__... He knew he could change, he knew he could feel... __**"Perhaps he'll do some good..."**__... The pieces fell at his feet, pieces of a broken mirror, a broken reflection... __**"Take me back! Where are my parents?"**__... Pain cometh, Death's red-cloaked emissary... __**"No room for mistakes! Learn that well, boy!"**__... Empathy's corruption is inevitable... __**"I didn't know you were **_**that**_** good. Anyway, I'm William, William Birkin."**__... Feeling is tantamount to dying... __**"You'll know with time..."**__... Emotions must be hidden..._

_Fear._

X

_It was dark, cold and damp. Nothing was worse __than being confined to that hellhole without an explanation. But there he was, collapsed against the wall without the necessary energy to move... not even to breathe. Every breath he took was suffocating; with every breath, he lost a bit of his will to fight._

_He had no knowledge of what had gotten him in there. He didn't know of any crimes he had committed: he had just turned six! How could a boy of his age do something to earn him a stay in prison? Perhaps it wasn't prison, not the typical that was shown in the movies; perhaps it was some other kind. There was nobody to talk to, nobody that would pay any attention to them, nobody that would feed them properly. His parents had told him the world could be cruel; was it supposed to be like this?_

_His hair was matter with sweat and dampness, his skin glistening with it under what little light the bulb above him provided. He was looking, staring at nothing, waiting for something he knew that wouldn't come. __His hopes were flickering like a weak flame, still strong and facing the raging wind, but it wouldn't hold for much longer. _

"_Psst! Hey! Can you hear me?"_

_He already knew where that voice was coming from. With a tremendous effort, his bones cracking at the sudden urge for movement, he lifted his head and gaze at a small cleft in the stone wall. He could see another pair of eyes of an intense blue staring at him, suddenly gleaming when the person succeeded in catching his attention. He said nothing._

"_Gee, Al, you look horrible. Y-you haven't eaten anything?" The voice was soft, dripping with concern and anxiety, also quivering with cold. He could hear the mild chattering of his teeth__, he could see how violently his body was shaking._

_He shook his head very slightly. "N-no... They haven't..." He tried to swallow, tried to palliate the dryness in his mouth, but to no avail: he could no longer bring h__imself to utter a single word. Even the effort racked his body with a retch. The other's eyes widened in shock and dread. _

"_I-I still have a bit of bread. Here!"_

_The other's offer fell on deaf ears. Hunger had long since disappeared, had long since stopped bothering him despite the evident need of food. _

"_Al, y-you've got to stay strong! We'll__-we'll get outta this place!"_

_But the question was, how?_

"_C-c'mon, keep it t-"_

_Then, something happened, something to which he paid what little attention he could. A door opened, the door to the other cell, and that boy who knew him started yelling out for help... help he would never be able to lend him. Cries in pain and sorrow shook both rooms, echoing off the walls with unimaginable strength._

"_Help me!"_

_But the question was, how?_

"_ALBERT!"_

X

With a jolt, he was awake.

The first thought that crept onto his mind was a chastisement for losing his composure, but Wesker was wise to ignore it. He was still in utter shock, his heart pounding furiously and hyperventilating. He didn't dare to move out of some strange instinct that took hold of him, the notion of something going wrong hand-in-hand with it. It wasn't until he bumped his hand with his knee that he realized the former was trembling; was a dream supposed to drive him to such extremes? Wesker swallowed, closed his eyes.

It was the same thing all over again: it had happened a fourth time, and this one had been the worst of them all.

It wouldn't stop.

It was the first time he'd had the dream in its entirety; the others had been just bits and pieces of it that didn't fail to leave him shaking like a leaf. He had no clue of what the dream was supposed to mean... or perhaps that was what he was telling himself to believe? Unconsciously? Wesker rubbed his eyes and climbed out of bed, unstable and still stunned. Nothing had ever managed to reduce him to such a state, which was something that bugged the hell out of him: something as controlled and 'tamed' like his mind could do this to him? If that was the case, he knew his subconscious would be even worse.

He hadn't had a look at himself for days -perhaps even more- and it wasn't difficult for him to accept that the paleness of his skin together with the slight bags under his eyes made him look dismal. For once, he questioned his own strength: there wasn't a mix as bad as feeling generally unwell and having piled up a serious amount of stress he hadn't been able to get off his back. Wesker sighed.

All of a sudden, there was a soft knocking at his door: whoever had come had just won the Bad Timing award. Wesker remained silent, staring at door as if with the intent of receiving an answer from it. The door opened and inside peeked Jill, her gaze meeting his in just a heartbeat. Wesker straightened, even stiffened in general distrust, and looked at her thoroughly. She stepped inside, closed the door behind her and kept her distances; a wise choice.

"How're you feeling?" she asked him, genuine concern in her voice. He didn't respond immediately.

"I've been better." The reply came out that way without his actual knowing, but it nevertheless brought out a very faint smile from Jill. "How long have I been-"

"-indisposed?" Jill finished for him, tentatively drawing closer to him. "Unfortunately, not long; I was hoping you could get a bit of rest. It's only been three hours since you left."

Three hours? Then it had indeed been a short while. He remained pensive, frowning as thoughts roamed his head with no kind of logical order. It was Jill's voice which then brought him out of his reverie.

"Are you _really_ feeling alright?"

He didn't know why, but Wesker felt like scoffing. "What leads you to doubt that?"

Jill frowned visibly. "Three nights in a row without sleeping, your general demeanor... you want me to keep going? It's an endless list, one I cared to start before," she stated pointedly. "There's something going on, something you haven't told me about. Please, I need to know."

"I can handle it myself," Wesker began, "so thank you for the-"

"It is _not_ an offer."

Wesker's heart unnaturally skipped a beat at the sudden coldness in Jill's voice, defiant and letting him know how much she was disregarding the consequences of her boldness. Her eyes were narrowed, also defiant and with a glint of overconfidence... Back to square one, it was. He waited for what she had to say.

"Do you really think you can hide it away from me? From _yourself_?" she questioned, hard. "Think again, because you're on the wrong road."

"You claim to know me; in that case, tell me when was the last time I hid something from myself, Jill," Wesker told her, narrowing his eyes back in defense. Jill replied right off the bat with words that sent him spinning, left him reeling.

"You've done it every day... since the same moment Spencer took hold of you."

Silence reigned, clutching at his heart like an icy hand. He would've most likely slapped her if it wasn't for his self-control, but some unconscious part of his mind told her she was on the right track, that _she was right_. And despite that self-control, Wesker couldn't keep himself from almost seething.

"Do you see why I say you don't know _anything_ about me?"

"I know something, and what I know is enough for me to draw my own conclusions about you," Jill said with one step forward. "Do you want to know what that is? What I know is that no matter how much you try to hide it, you're afraid! Why would you have run away from emotions if-"

It happened, also without his knowing: he had just slapped her across her face. Jill clearly winced and what surprised him the most, she confronted him fearlessly. Even Wesker himself didn't know how it had happened; he wasn't prone to losing his marbles like that. What he did know was that he had meant it, be in conscious or unconsciously. Jill's gaze was even fuller of rage and defiance than before, something he didn't know how to interpret.

"-if you weren't strong enough to take them?"

Something clicked inside him. "Don't you get it? I _am_ like this! You cannot change that!"

"Of course _I _can't, but _you can_!" Jill exclaimed, raising her voice over her usual tone. "What happens is that you _don't want to_! Don't you get it? He _controlled _you, Wesker; you've got nothing to do with who you are!"

"Hell, _o__f course_ I don't want to change!" Wesker exclaimed back, his hands up in the air. "Emotions are nothing but an obstacle! And believe me, I have more than irrefutable proof to support that! Don't you-?"

"Then why the hell are you accepting _me_ into your world, huh?" she said, her harsh gestures cutting through his words. "Why is it that you _trust_ me, Wesker? Why? Think about it: why do you trust me? You know better than that, don't you?"

It wasn't a question for him to answer, for she was cruelly reminding him of the self he had once more embraced. Was it because she was actually right? Was it simple fear towards the unknown or towards the known?

"Let me tell you that the only thing that helps me keep my marbles is knowing that you still are the man I know." Jill's features mellowed into a worried expression, closing the space between them. "I'm just... I'm just trying to help you, don't you see?"

A sudden light flashed before his eyes, painful and blinding.

"_I'm just trying to help you, don't you see?"_

For a second he could've sworn he'd been into another place, dismal and swathed in darkness with a single distinguishable silhouette. It was like having another dream, only this time illusion and reality were one.

"I-I should've never... I should've never allowed someone else in." Wesker didn't know who he was talking to: be it himself or Jill, it was impossible for him to know. "They're... they're just thieves looking for fragile hearts to break, which is why we-"

"Wesker?" Jill's voice came thin, dripping with shock. He looked up at her, found her staring at him, fear having been struck into her. "Wesker, what's going on?"

"_I'm just trying to help you, don't you see?"_

A hoarse and short cry in pain escaped him, images flooding his vision.

* * *

...

_It was dark, cold and damp. Nothing was worse that being confined to that hellhole without an explanation. But there he was, collapsed against the wall without the necessary energy to move... not even to breathe._

**…**

* * *

He couldn't control his voice, which quivered and dripped with agony. "There's... there's blood spattered everywhere, screams echoing off the walls..."

* * *

...

"_Help me!"_

_But the question was, how?_

"_ALBERT!"_

**…**

* * *

"OH, GOD!"

The scream left his throat in an instant. Strength abandoned him and he collapsed onto his knees, tightly gripping his head in an attempt to drown off the screams he had just recalled. The voices desperately called for help, some others were crying and the rest asked questions with the hopes of receiving the answers. But most importantly, images he had never thought that existed came to his mind, flashing with harshness he had never imagined possible. Wesker had no idea of why they existed, of why he was remembering now; he didn't even know if the memories were his own. He felt himself shaking, more than before, the state he fell into almost every night catching hold of him and drive him paranoid and selfish, made him careen on sanity's edge.

And for the first time in forever, the unmistakable sensation of tears falling struck him like cold water.

"We're no good... we've been stripped of our essence, our selves torn apart..."

Despite being fully aware of what he was saying, he had the horrible need to speak, to _let everything out_. He didn't hear, he didn't see, he didn't feel-

-until a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and partially stopped his shaking with their strong grip.

"Wesker, please, look at me!"

And he did as she asked, making sure their eyes met. She was startled and he didn't know why. What he was sure of was of the pain that was still corroding his insides and torturing his mind like there was no end to time. Nothing palliated his pain; nothing _could_.

"He tore me apart..." he uttered, his voice weak. "His shadow still haunts me, reaches at me from his filthy grave... he would never let me go..." Jill was staring at him as he allowed a smirk to spread across his features. "And I didn't fight..." For once, he couldn't dissolve the knot in his throat. "I remember... and I don't want to!"

"Wesker..."

He shrank even further, opening his mouth to scream out once more but to allow no sounds to come out. Her dread was contagious, so was her despair. Tired of putting up a fight, Wesker dropped his arms and remained unmoving, waiting for any kind of reaction or response. "Please tell me these memories aren't mine... they shouldn't be..."

No response.

Then, what he didn't expect: her arms around him. After that, he knew nothing more than her presence.

He soon learned to let go.

* * *

_A/N: AHA! How did it come for you? The whole 'repressed memories' thing really did the trick for me because it seemed incredibly plausible; we know of Capcom's tendency to forget major details, but how could've Wesker ignored such memories if it wasn't because they had made him forget? I mean, he didn't even know himself, so Spencer had to play some kind of role in the matter. And here you go, one of my big theories. Now it's up to you to decide if you like it or not._

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_

_PS: Oh, the references Amanda and Allen played with are all from "Dr. Strangelove Or How I Stopped Worrying And Learnt To Love The Bomb", an amazing film of Stanley Kubrick's. And yes, they have both seen the movie xDDD_


	7. Chapter V: Equation, Unbalanced

**Author's Note:** I have to thank everybody for their support on the last chapter: it made me sooooo happy! Here we are with more answers and yet MORE questions, so hang on to your seats, gents. Anyways, enjoy!^^

**Disclaimer: The usual.**

* * *

V

Equation, unbalanced

_Hell in his mind_

"You still don't know why?" Jill inquired, solemn. The only thing he wanted to do was escape, to simply leave without a word, but his shock would root him there to his place.

"I didn't even know they were there," Wesker replied, unnaturally subdued. "I had remembered many and written them down, but none of them were... like what I've just seen. Damn it..."

It had taken him longer than both he and Jill had expected to calm down, set his thoughts in order and make sense of everything he'd seen in such a short time. He had a hunch: it had been an immense amount of information and he hadn't even grasped a fraction of it; still, it pulsated in the back of his mind, senseless and clear. Wesker had barely told her about that which he had seen, had only given her a clue: repressed memories. The question hung in the air, but Wesker already had the answer to the reason behind their existence.

"All this time, I've been sure of what my memories were, of how much of my life I remembered, but now I see that was nothing." He sighed, somehow overwhelmed by the feeling of her eyes upon him, and said nothing more. Wesker glanced at her, follow her downcast gaze, and smirked. "Don't look for a suitable apology; it will pass, as everything does."

"Don't dismiss it like that!" Jill shot back, then it was her turn to sigh. "Is that why... why you were barely 'approachable' these days?" she asked with a bitter tinge of humor. It wasn't a critic or snide comment, perhaps just an observation, but it bugged him nonetheless. When he didn't reply, she said, "Well, I also have to apologize for what I said. It's just that... well, I-"

He rose up his hand. "No, you had all the right to say that."

"Say what?" Wesker smirked at Jill's shocked expression. "And where did that come from? I was thinking you'd come up with something else."

This time, she let out a barely audible laugh as she sat down next to him, apparently having second thoughts about keeping her distances. He had to swallow hard when she did; having avoided Jill for so long had made him grow used to being alone again. It wasn't like before, when he would accept her company without the slightest complaint; now, it was different. Wesker was trying much too hard not to keel over like a boat in the middle of a tempest.

"If my snapping satisfies you, then I'm afraid you won't get it this time," he said, avoiding her eyes when they searched for his. He couldn't bear looking at her, not now. But he would crumble down, fall, if he didn't accept her help and support. Jill had shown more concern towards him than anybody else in a very long time; why betray her trust now? "I don't know what to say... I don't even know if I _can_ say anything; it's just..."

"You want me to clear the area?" Jill asked, making as if she were about to stand up.

"You want the truth or half the truth?" Wesker asked in return, bitter. Jill didn't reply right off the bat.

"I'll take the first option, thanks," she then said, crossing a leg over the other. "But really now, I want you to talk to me. I've been trying... God knows how long to get a proper answer out of you, but you wouldn't oblige. I need answers, Wesker, or I'll really be your fifth wheel."

"What do you want me to say? What do you want me to tell you? I wouldn't even know where to begin, truth be told," Wesker said, sighing at the end and somehow expectant to hear what she had to say in return. She just looked at him, frowning, and her question came.

"What happened back there? What happened that has brought you to such a state?" Concern was more than evident in her voice, not to mention her not-so-unseen iron will. It was clear that she wanted to know, she wanted to _help_ in every way possible, an intention that brought him out of his confusion.

"It could've been... a repressed memory. Before you ask why, I would think you already know the answer," he said, this time meeting her gaze. "What happened was that... I saw everything my life is made of, perhaps even that which I've been running away from." Wesker was momentarily surprised at both his honesty and how calm he seemed to be despite the shock.

"Is it...?" Jill intentionally let the question hang once more, giving him much needed time to sort out his thoughts and give his answer. It was horrible to remember, to know that what he had seen was part of his mad childhood, to feel all he had grown so used to but at the same time feared with all his might.

"Yes," Wesker said in the end. "Fear, death, despair... you can figure. All my life, I've avoided pain, suffering, at all costs. There's always so much one can take, you know that better than anyone."

"And that's been bugging you all this time?"

"Only after all this started, I believe. But it doesn't add up: I don't know why they would have to resurface _now_. They could've years ago." Wesker immediately fell silent, pensive. Then, "When we argued back there, it all came back in a tremendous wave; emotions, I mean. The castle of cards came down, it seems."

"I didn't really want to argue, but you left me no choice... sort of," Jill admitted, shrugging. "I sometimes even wondered how you could be strong enough to keep everything at bay. It was... unnatural."

"Looking back, I'd say it was a bit, but nothing out of the ordinary. I've always been like that." Wesker caught Jill's hard look, scolding and defiant towards his words. "Well, perhaps not."

"You were _shaped_ to be like that," she stated, emphasizing her words with gestures. "I can't believe you-"

"-didn't fight?" Wesker finished for her, seeing where the remark was going, and he smirked. "You, out of all people, must know that whenever you're broken to the extreme, you barely find the strength to go on." Jill stiffened at this. "For me, the only thing I could cling to was that I had been inculcated; when that happens, you're reborn. Firstly, of course, they had to make us stoop low. We were-"

"-stripped of our essence, our selves torn apart." Jill whispered that with him, her gaze downcast.

"Now you understand?" Wesker asked. "Now you see _why_?" Jill nodded, welcoming silence. "We were told to go numb, to shield ourselves from what the world was... from what _humanity_ in itself was. We were told that it had been because of our weakness, our emotions, that we had been brought there; we were told that they'd reshape us into stronger beings, immune to even ourselves. When you've got nothing to lose, you accept the offer in a heartbeat, regardless of the risks. That's exactly what I did."

"Was it when they beat you up?"

"_**Don't do this! He's just a child!"**_

Silence. Jill's breath hitched for a moment, the question having come out too fast and harsh, but Wesker dismissed it.

"Yes. There was also this... desire to think ahead, to know what to do when the time came."

"You were stripped of virtues and flaws, but you still felt them unconsciously," Jill reasoned, nodding. "Hunt or be hunted..."

"Kill or be killed," Wesker finished. Every day of his life, it had been like that. "It was that simple. I was never going to let myself fall; I would kill when others wouldn't, I would hunt and get my reward." He suddenly remembered that voice in his vision, that other boy that had encouraged him to keep fighting, and decided it'd be best to tell her. "There was... somebody else with me, somebody who fought insistently against the fate that had befallen us. I haven't seen him since."

"That's what you saw?" Jill inquired, her eyes growing wide. "The cell, that boy... yourself?"

"In dreams and reality," he replied. "There was no way to escape the vision and I haven't made any sense out of it yet. I know what it pertains to, but it seems bizarre still."

And now, as if he were expecting some convincing answer or remark from Jill, Wesker met her eyes again, searching for an unknown something in them. She was pensive, taking in all the information, thinking. All of a sudden, she smiled a smile he had never seen before in her. Even that left him surprised.

"How did you do it?"

"Excuse me?" Almost perplexed because of her not-so-subtle mood swing, Wesker cocked an eyebrow.

"I mean, I'm more than willing to help you, otherwise I wouldn't be here, but... I've just thought about it and it looks like my equation has been balanced," she told him, her tone kind. "Now I see you're one of the strongest people I've ever met." Her words were sincere, tinged with genuine appreciation. "It's natural to be afraid of being afraid in itself, death and pain, but we cannot help it. In spite of that... didn't you ever have the feeling you'd come down at any minute? How could you keep going?"

Wesker saw her two reasons to ask the questions: one, her genuine curiosity; two, to subtly change topics... and perhaps there was even a third, one he couldn't figure out. "I'll speak in past tense: I was 'trained' to be like so, I did feel like so and more than a few times, but I was never going to allow anything to deter me. But alas, you know everything's relative, yes?"

"It seemed like more than persistence to me, honestly," Jill countered, smiling. "Sorry if I asked that question, but... I was curious. It seemed the right moment to ask, too."

"Now, I don't know what to think," Wesker admitted after a few seconds of silence, and it was more than true. "I may need some time to settle down and get everything in order."

"You want me to clear the area?" Jill asked again, this time standing up completely.

"You want the truth or half the truth?" Wesker inquired with the feeblest of smiles and imitating her action. "Déjà vú, anyone?"

What he didn't expect was a chuckle, mirthful and lively. Wesker was surprised to see how easily a laugh could come, no matter the situation. Joy was not unknown to him, but the one he'd felt was completely different to what others _could_ feel. "Don't ask me why... but I believe I understand."

"Did you now?"

He nodded. "And I suppose I should-"

"What?" she cut in, a hand on his chest. "Thank me? Apologize? Nah, there's no need for that. Besides, if you had done either of them or both, I wouldn't have accepted them. I just... stuck with you; I had to, after all. I couldn't just leave you aside; I wouldn't have forgiven myself." Her hand moved to his heart. "What are you feeling now, eh?"

At this, he didn't know how to reply. His old instincts got in the way once more: would he tell her or would he lie? Would he once more push her away or would he welcome her like he'd done some time ago? He had all too willingly included her in his life, had shared with her secrets nobody would've ever figured out, and most important of all: she had shown him nothing more than appreciation in return. How could he repay that? He could lie to himself again and say he had never needed it, but its warmth had never felt bitter, tinged with hypocrisy. Perhaps it was time to feel what he _wanted_ _to_, not what he _should_. But how could he ever reintroduce himself into what the world was? How could he ever feel like fitting in again? Would emotions hurt as they always had?

It then felt as if Jill had just read his mind. "Sometimes it will hurt, but it's only natural... if you catch both meanings," she told him, winking an eye at him. "How many times have you used others against me? I've never renounced to them, I've never let those close to me be harmed. It's true that whenever you hold something close to yourself, it becomes others' target, but the determination to get it back is what makes it worth."

"Are you trying to teach me something?" Wesker inquired, slightly amused. "I've learnt all this throughout the years, watching you, watching others..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she snapped, crossing her arms defensively. "Then I suppose I could've just ditched you and leave you alone brainstorming."

"That would've been most unsuitable," Wesker replied, touching the back of his hand to her cheek. It felt warm, different. Jill smiled, amused.

"Are you going soft on me?" Something clicked again. He immediately withdrew his hand, harsh, realizing his mistake, but then her hand shot up to grasp his wrist. It felt like he had tripped again, made the same mistake twice, like he had been saved from drowning and allowed to breathe again. "I'm not tricking you, and I was just messing with you. I won't criticize you for what you choose: it's up to you."

Wesker looked into her eyes, words feeling unnecessary for him, and she understood. "I don't know what leads me to ask this, but... people _can_ change, correct?"

Jill nodded. "Of course. I knew you'd changed some time after we... well, reunited?" She chuckled again at the word. "Sometimes it's consciously, sometimes it's not, but it isn't inevitable. Let's be honest: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?"

"It would seem so," he agreed, going with the flow. There was something in her behavior that sent his reasoning on a full three-sixty spin; it was as though he had no reason to reply or question her words. His answers felt as if uncalled for, as if he had been stripped from the right of replying: she was saying it all.

"You're going to hate me for this," she began, suddenly looking down, "but Chris once told me that... we're only weak if we believe ourselves to be. There's always a choice, there's always something we can... assimilate to get stronger, no matter how twisted that may be." Jill looked up at him. "Did you make that mistake?"

Wesker didn't need any further guidance: he knew where she was going and what she was referring to. "But now that I know... perhaps it was because I was _led to believe_ it."

"That would be my opinion," Jill agreed, nodding in agreement. But then something felt strange.

"What are you trying to have me do?" Wesker turned, paced away from her. "It may seem heartless –to you, that is- after all you've told me, but I believe you're trying to tie me down with chains so strong I will never break free. Do you feel compelled to pull me down to your level?"

"I'm trying to make you realize that you've been wrong in many ways," Jill replied. "Others… well, I have to say that I agree with them, but… I just want you to see, that's all. And, as I also said... I'm leaving the choices up to you."

He remained silent, pondering. It was like being pulled out from the naïve bliss ignorance provided, but it was also stepping into the flames of knowledge. With every truth came a price to pay, and that price was most often pain… like it always was. As Jill had said, there was no escaping it. Emotions could be rejected, evaded, but not pain: it was everywhere.

"After I saw Spencer one last time," he began, "I changed: I became more self-confident, more than ever, and I allowed myself a few... let's say luxuries. Looking back, I think I never realized it."

He fell silent once again. All that thinking and reasoning was making him queasy, but all the conclusions he had reached were far from false. For a moment he considered the possibility of a different outlook, but would that mean a full reconstruction of his self? It had happened to him once, an experience horrible beyond the humanly possible, and it had only gotten him into dark alleys of doubt.

_Perhaps I don't have to change at all. There's nobody here to tell me what I should believe, how I should shape myself... I have never been able to cut myself loose from the threads that held me back: perhaps those threads, those chains, weren't emotions themselves... but what I had been led to believe about them. Experience has shown me many things, none too pleasant, but no matter what I've done, I've always felt some kind of pain... pain I've maybe barely overcome. I just have to-_

"Hey." Jill's soft call brought him back to reality. "You've gone quiet all of a sudden. Is everything okay?"

"Merely thinking, but yes," he replied, "everything's fine."

And with that, he welcomed Jill into an embrace, his desire to hold her close at last satisfied. She was more than willing to stay there, to hold him tight and kindly, and Wesker finally understood the meaning of feeling at ease. He tightened his grip around her, allowing her warmth to spread all over him, and exhaled. He didn't know how long he stayed there, with his arms around her and keeping her close to him like his most cherished possession. It was what he needed: there was no other way around it.

Wesker withdrew and their eyes met again, this time with his own intention. After a moment, all he could do was give her a feeble smile; he didn't dare to attempt anything else. But it was just what she needed to smile her own smile, once more kind and amiable. That gaze and that smile had only marked the start of it all: in just a moment, he felt her warm lips upon his own, drawing him deeper into irrationality. It was brief, tentative, and then her intentions were clear: she was testing him. He lowered his hands to her neck, indulging in her touch. In that moment, they slowed down, breathed in as she gently touched her forehead to his.

It had been the first and last thing he'd ever wanted, to resort to accepting her love: something about it had hurt his ego and pride.

As she separated and pulled him into a tight embrace, he knew nothing would be the same anymore.

* * *

Amanda stepped out of the kitchen with a shot glass of whiskey in either hand and then sat down by Allen's side, who barely smiled when he noticed her. "What?" Perhaps Allen wasn't amused towards her attire, consisting of a black tee and a pair of low-waist slacks, but when she thought it over…

"Drinking again?" Allen sighed, looked away from the screen of his laptop. "Surprise me: what's the bang this time?" he asked, crossing his arms. Amanda cocked an eyebrow at him, unable to feel loathing towards his typical goofy smiles, but then she shrugged, looking away from him. She focused her attention on Allen's legs, which were stretched out with his feet resting on the small central table, and frowned for a very long instant.

"You don't have to make that face, you know," Allen suddenly said, turning back to his work again. "Yeah, I always wonder what it'd be to stand on your own, but day-dreaming doesn't do it for me; it only brings back bitter memories I don't want to remember."

He patted his right leg, the one Amanda had been looking at, to draw her attention back to him. Amanda once more flinched at his smile. He chuckled.

"You've not even drank the shot and you're already downcast; I hope alcohol does some good on you."

This time, Amanda couldn't help a laugh, thoroughly amused and free of concern.

"You know me: nobody stands me when I'm drunk."

"Oh, come on," Allen protested, leaving his laptop halfway closed. "Of all the women I've met that tend to get drunk, you're the only one who hasn't gone through one night stands over and over again! You should be proud of yourself; not many women have such a high tolerance."

"Oh, so now I've got another reason to drink?" Amanda shot back, slouching in the sofa. "Perfect!" She let out a long sigh, running a hand through her black hair and then down her face. She was horribly tired, which was why she had resorted to alcohol to get some good sleep: she had cut her attention off from work at four in the morning; to top it off, she had a free day, so that freedom also spoke of using whiskey to her favor. But alas, now she could barely picture herself drinking despite her fondness for Jack Daniel's. When she looked up, she saw Allen with his eyes on her. "What? Wondering about how strange it is to combine whiskey with six in the morning?"

He smiled. "Look... Strangelove, I'm worried too. I think I'm more worried about you than about this case!" Amanda blinked a few times, not believing her ears. "I mean, you should've seen your face when you got William's call! The color drained right out of you. You've got a strong heart, I know, but you went... pale as a sheet."

She had received said call mere minutes before midnight. She had spoken with somebody named William about the case involving Chris Redfield. Amanda had been made an offer: if she could get Jill and the others to him, then he would take over for the rest of the ride, not to mention give her the answers she was seeking. Naturally, she had accepted, not before thinking it with great care, but not to leap at such a chance would be foolish. William had also mentioned Wesker, the name that had been the reason behind Amanda's reaction.

_This man must've made a list of all the people who want to kill him, no doubt._

"Well... to know that someone can help you kill the man who led your brother to his death is not something that happens to you every day," Amanda replied, closing her eyes. Why was it that she felt so compelled to pull the trigger of her own gun and put a bullet through Oliver's killer's forehead? Though snappy and of sometimes brittle behavior and disposition, Amanda had never thought of resorting to violence: now, it seemed, she had no choice if she wanted to put herself and her brother at ease. "I've never killed someone, Allen, but I just..." She buried her face in her hands.

Allen sighed, nodding. "It's alright, no need to talk anymore. I'm just concerned, and I certainly hope we get this case off our backs as soon as possible."

He shared a look with Amanda, one she knew it was bright and encouraging, and smiled. "You know what?" In that moment, he reached for his own shot glass and eyed it with one quirked eyebrow. "I don't usually do this, but I suppose one time won't hurt."

Amanda couldn't believe the sight: Allen, drinking? And Jack Daniel's, no less. "Since when have you harbored a fondness for drinking?"

"Since… now, I guess," he replied, nonchalant. "I've already been deprived of the ability to walk; let's not count the ability to keep a bit of Jack off myself."

Amanda smiled, raising her own glass. "Alright… To the success of this case…"

"To us…" added Allen and then, at the unison,

"To the most dysfunctional pair of people to ever walk this earth."

* * *

**12:25 am.**

"Hold the phone: a letter for you?" Sherry asked Rebecca, whose face changed with a fleeting moment of anxiety and worry. From a corner of Sherry's study, Claire was carefully eyeing Rebecca with narrowed eyes and tense stance.

She pursed her lips, tightening her grip around her bicep. Claire had found Rebecca in her room, her eyes and cheeks red from crying, and beside her laid the letter, almost untouched. She had read the letter, and it was from Chris himself: there was no mistaking his handwriting no matter how messy it was. And now, with that clue in their hands, they had hurried along to tell the others: Chris was indeed getting worse by the moment. He had desperately asked for her and Jill's help with no hesitation, no second thoughts: it was exactly like Wesker had said.

She then turned her attention to Jill, who seemed took it more naturally than one could expect. She was more than likely hiding her surprise; Claire knew that much. What was also clear was that she was as tense as Claire, overly alert and on the lookout for any kind of detail that somebody could've missed.

_He's fighting back… He's fighting back; I know he is. We're almost there, Chris; don't you leave us now!_

"What I don't understand is why he would approach you instead of others, like me for example," she piped up, shifting her stance with uneasiness. "He states right there that Jill and I are his sole links to sanity, quoting him, so why not contact us first?"

Leon shot her a hard look, but it wasn't because of it that Claire shivered.

"Of us, Rebecca and I would be, let's say, the most suitable," he said, not unkindly but without smiling. "His approach was careful; I myself, if I were him, wouldn't risk anything. The matter doesn't let us think too clearly, so we could've very well done something we would've regretted later."

He was completely right. Had it happened any other way, Claire herself wouldn't have believed it. Perhaps hope would've been rekindled, but not for long: his words and the letter itself pointed at his detrimental state of mind that would kill him sooner than later. Claire felt such a strong knot in her gut she thought she'd faint.

Jill frowned, then reasoned, "He also said they'd be moving somewhere shortly. '24-5-14-9-3-5'… Considering the only two places where they can keep going are Florence and Venice, then…"

"Those numbers are the code to one of them, and I'd say it's Venice," Sherry completed, clearly voicing her thoughts aloud. "Matching them with letters of the abc, it's a perfect match. Though it wouldn't explain why Greene was killed in Florence."

"Perhaps a free day?" Wesker interjected with slight humor. "It's not that far-fetched and it would be quite the opportunity to catch her unawares. As for the means of transportation, let's not wonder about them: Marco's got tricks up his sleeve and I for one, regarding that, am not interested in finding out." He sighed. "So it's Venice, after all…"

"Did you have any sort of hunch about it?" Claire inquired, narrowing her eyes further. Was Wesker keeping things from them?

"I would think so," he merely responded, dipping his head at her.

"Another lead we had taken into account was the location of the executive board's building, which was also in Venice. As I said, the more silent, the better; otherwise, just imagine."

"'We'"? Rebecca echoed, tilting her head in suspicion.

"_We_," Wesker said, gesturing at himself and Sherry, who smiled, "did some thinking of our own, thinking we decided to discuss with you when the time came. Said time is now and we've done it."

Claire paid no further attention to the rest of the conversation. She looked away from Sherry, remained pensive. As discreetly as she could she tapped her foot on the floor, giving vent to all the frustration that gnawed at her non-stop. She feared losing Chris to time, to himself, and that she wouldn't be able to stop him from falling. Just the letter brought imaginary screams to her mind, screams that awfully resembled her brother's, which did nothing to bring her determination up to another level. She had to get him back, but at what cost?

"We need to go," she suddenly said. "We've got to get to Venice."

"Exactly what we were discussing right now." Claire looked up to Jill, whom she found smiling confidently at her.

But then, knock, knock. The same scenario from hours ago repeated itself: rapping at the door and then Zoe came in as flustered as Jean-Jacques had showed himself to be. There was silence, dreadful silence, as everybody waited. Claire felt her heart literally pounding in her ears, cold chills running down her spine.

Then,

"Marco's dead."

* * *

_A/N: There, as natural as that. Remember the last line in the first epilogue? Go and check it out again if you don't remember because you're in for a nasty surprise; if you know, YES... things are heading that way. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as possible; in the meantime, brainstorm xD_

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	8. Chapter VI: Master & Puppet

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the late update; I've gotten caught up with exams this week. I'm really happy about the support I'm getting, I'm glad to see you like it so far. Things are starting to make a bit of sense but others are just getting even worse. I admit it, yeah, I've created a whole web of seemingly senseless things but they'll all tie up in the end; a mistery after another. Enjoy this update, guys!^^

**Disclaimer: The usual.**

* * *

VI

Master and puppet

_In your head!_

"What do you mean he's dead?" Sherry almost exclaimed. "He kicked the bucket, just like that?"

Jill glanced from Claire to Wesker and then back at her, her heart sinking. First Greene, then the executive board, and now Marco? Was Chris getting _that_ worse? But how could it have happened? What reasons would he have had to kill Marco? Those questions and more assaulted her mind, rendered her unable to think clearly. The bigger picture was at hand, ready to be examined.

"Well, yes!" Zoe exclaimed with hasty nods. "It's already out in all of Italy's newspapers! It'll take a while to get here, but the news are already out!"

"Sherry, check 'La Nuova Venezia'," Leon intervened instantly. "If it happened in Venice, then that newspaper is a must-check." He placed himself beside her as Sherry opened her laptop and looked up said newspaper. Jill suddenly noticed Wesker's intent stare on her, inquisitive.

"What would you make of it?" she asked in return. "I have my thoughts already, but…"

"It's a mere diversion; that's what I stand in favor of," he replied with a firm nod. "Let's see what the world's being told about, shall we?"

"Gee, you sure you can make out all of this?" Jill heard Sherry ask Leon. She turned, expectant towards her friend's answer. Leon nodded. "Wow, we're a bunch of surprises, aren't we?"

"Yeah, it's simple enough. Alright…" And as Leon skimmed over the article, quick as mercury, Jill prayed for everything to not be as worse as she was imagining it would be. "Holy crap, you're not gonna believe this: 'Marco Gionne, presumed dead. This morning, at exactly six fifteen, Marco Gionne's residence was cordoned off by the police, who found clear evidence of Gionne's murder.' That's the main thing… but you're going to find this strange: there's no body."

"No body?" echoed Rebecca, eyes wide. Leon shook his head.

"No body at all," he confirmed.

"So much for 'clear evidence'," Claire scoffed with a bitter smirk. Jill jumped at such remark.

_Wait a minute…_

"The police found the residence to be clean of miscellaneous proof and any kind of print, as well as finding no signs of struggle," Leon continued. "What they did find, pay attention, were spatters of blood on one of the walls and a small puddle of it on the floor right under these. They've got no body, but they could determine a few things out of that examination. Also, there had been a theory about a sniper taking up the job, but no bullet had pierced the window. Everything seemed normal."

"Anything else about the body?" asked Jill. She already had a hunch of what was cooking.

"Not much, really," Leon said, shrugging. "Until they find him –heh, _if_ they find him-, he's presumed dead. The police are going to carry out an investigation; if the body hasn't turned up in two weeks, then it's official."

Then if that was the case, Jill was sure it hadn't been Chris' voluntary and conscious doing. Everything was so clean and normal that it sounded staged, planned down to a T. No body, only blood marks that could very well be somebody else's, and with no previous warning. "My God…"

"A complete farce," Wesker said with a blunt gesture of his hand. Jill, as everyone did, turned to face him, astounded at his simple reaction. And apparently, he had no arguments to justify himself rather than a dry, "Please, it's so obvious it hurts."

"But if it's that obvious, and I myself see it," Rebecca began, stepping forward, "why would it be? I mean, they could've planned this more carefully, I think."

"Nothing's more carefully planned than an unexpected series of events." Jill wondered what thoughts could be crossing Wesker's mind right then. "They catch you when you least expect it. Planning isn't the complicated thing: it's the timing that's essential. Let's examine the big picture: Chris is gone and one by one, the pawns of Tricell fall. Then it's an unexpected checkmate and endgame. We've got murders here and there, clues that have no apparent meaning, and now this trap: piecing everything together, he's just calling our attention." He shrugged. "All in a day's work."

"And like Jill said, it doesn't exactly have to make any logical sense," Sherry intervened, folding her arms across her chest. "I suppose that as long as the real truth doesn't get out, then we've got a good time window. Mother of God, he sure likes twisting things. I can't believe he's putting us through this."

"If he's done this, it's because he wanted it to happen," Jill stated, frowning. She was on the right track; she knew it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice told her to keep going: she would reach a conclusion. "Tricell's gone for good now that the executive board's out of the way and with his 'murder', then it's his chance to keep a low profile. He's telling us where he is, he's telling us what he's going to do, and all because he just wants this to be a game." That simple prospect infuriated her.

"You think he's a distant relative of the Ashfords?" Claire quipped, that dark humor triggering a smirk from Leon. "He's not getting away with this, I swear. Son of a bitch, how dare he…?"

"Simply daring," Wesker said with a smirk, "and in a very stupid way. We can't forget there's something else under this fast pace of his."

"Getting to you, perhaps?" Claire shot back, cocking an eyebrow. "It wouldn't surprise me."

"Might very well be the case," he agreed, shrugging, "but I'd prefer to wait before jumping to conclusions. And I think this sets the countdown off: we need to move. It's our only chance if we don't want to lose the lead."

"Agreed," Sherry acknowledged, nodding. "I can get you a plane to get there."

"Best thing we can do as a start is avoid travelling together," Leon stated, firm. All eyes were on him in a mere fraction of a second. "Maybe sticking together is our best way to defend ourselves against a possible move, but Marco's strategy has given us the upper hand here: if he wants to carry out any kind of… well, task," He grimaced at the word, "he's only got Chris to do it. Perhaps he may have reflexes beyond normal now, but I don't think he can cover up several miles of distance in an excessively short period of time."

"Chris isn't to be underestimated," Wesker added, his tone hard, "but he's right. At the same time, we would have to travel in an unpredictable way. Otherwise, we'd be perfect targets for him."

"If he's calling our attention, then I suppose he wouldn't touch us for the time being," Rebecca said, frowning. "Everything's possible now, though."

"And quite." Sherry gave a sharp exhale. "So, how're you going to do it?"

Wesker straightened his stance. "He already knows we're coming; what would it matter if we came or not at the same time? The point here is _who_ we travel with, and I go for pairs." Jill noticed a hint of a smile. "Unusual pairs, if I must make my point clear."

A look of indignation flashed across Claire's features, but she agreed like everybody else. Then, she added, looking at Rebecca, "But we're not an even number. One of us would have to go alone."

"And that would be me," Rebecca said promptly, not giving anyone any time to speak. "Both Jill and Claire are top priorities now, so the pairs would go along better for them."

"And what about you?" Jill asked, concerned. "You'd be an easy target too, not to mention you could be Chris' first one." It felt dreadful to say something like that, but it was an irrefutable truth. "You were the recipient of his letter, so any offensive action would be against you first."

"Unlikely," Wesker piped up. He was staring right at Rebecca, his gaze intent. "We all hold number one on his list. Right now, there's a loophole both Marco and us can exploit, and that loophole is the uncertainty of the first strike. On his side, and since both of you are important, he would have to choose carefully who he'd go for. On our side, during that thinking, we can move and anticipate any sort of strategy. Whoever moves first will have the last word."

"I'll go alone," said Rebecca, reassuring. "At least I won't get you deeper into the mess."

Sherry chuckled. "If it's about danger, we've got plenty. In any case, I see no problem." She turned to her laptop, typed something in and, after a few seconds, she said, "The earliest plane you could catch is the one that leaves whenever you tell me within a reasonable limit." Her smile was wide, amused.

Claire shrugged. "The sooner, the better… having the jetlag in mind. If we get there by evening, local time in Venice, I think it'd go fine."

"So it would be all of us together at first, and then find different places to stay," Jill summed up, pensive. "I don't see any problem with that. We'll make the pairs as we go, but I think we all have an idea of how it'll turn out."

Sherry chuckled. "I suppose so. I'll stay here with my team and keep tabs on you. Any kind of information or tip, we'll pass it on to you. Agreed?"

Jill felt a pang of optimism when everybody nodded their agreement. They had the chance to act, a chance they'd been waiting for so long. Finally, a path to follow.

The wait was over.

–

"_Sherry! What are you doing here?"_

_An eleven old Sherry backed away from the looming figures of her parents and even though Annette sounded angry, Sherry couldn't pay attention to her: instead, she kept her focus on William, who was staring at her in disbelief. Wordless, she kept on looking at him, ignoring her mother scolding her. At last, he said, _

"_So you know, right?" The girl examined her father, whose gaze was dark and almost despaired, but also had traces of determination. He had always been a man of many quirks, after all._

_Sherry nodded at last, being careful not to say anything that could make the situation worse. But it wasn't her who did, nor was it Annette, but William himself. _

"_You know how friendship is, right?" he said, crouching in front of Sherry. "It always has many lies, and this is one of that kind. I won't reveal the secret and if you somehow end up with him, you'll have to bear responsibility. If the time comes, tell him. Will you remember?"_

_Sherry didn't understand the seriousness of the situation she would put herself in, but she nodded anyway. That was the only thing her father left her as his legacy._

_A lie._

X

**13:04 pm.**

Sherry was about to put her hand in the doorknob when she stopped, her fingers freezing in the air. She didn't have the guts; that much was clear. A flurry of emotions overcame her, sent her reeling and forced her to back off a few steps. Nothing frightened her more than Wesker's possible reaction at what she had to say, the truth that had been buried for several years without seeing the light. She had predicted a result. It was the most awful one, but also the most plausible: he'd kill her. He'd kill her like he would've killed William had he revealed the secret to him instead of her. Her heart sped up, pounding furiously in her chest and ears. If she didn't tell him now, when would she?

It was now or never. Do or die.

_Nothing ventured, nothing gained._

With her determination walking the tightrope, Sherry stepped forward and knocked on her office's door. It felt strange, but she knew Wesker was inside browsing through a few files and he had requested not to be disturbed. A few seconds went by until his reply came and she stepped inside, tentative. She felt him searching for her eyes since the same instant she had gone through the door; it was hard to avoid his gaze. Sherry opened her mouth to speak, but it was because of his hidden but intense stare that she fell silent. Wesker was holding a small half-open notebook in his right hand, a notebook she suddenly recognized. Her breath hitched.

"Tell me something," he said after painful moments of silence, "What should I do now?"

So it was true after all: he'd kill her. Sherry exhaled all the air she'd been holding, frowned and closed her eyes in awe. William had been right: the responsibility was hers and only hers. She opened her eyes again, ready to face him. Sherry stood perfectly still, in waiting.

"I want to hear it from you: why?"

Sherry was struck with the agony and anger in that single word, emotions that seemed non-existent. Wesker was perfectly calm, his breathing steady and his stance relaxed, but there was something in him, aside from his demeanor, that belied his inner tempest: what was it?

"I… I didn't have a choice, Wesker," Sherry said, her gut seizing up in pain. "I couldn't tell you, not… not until Spencer was dead."

"Three years… Three years that bastard has been dead and you haven't uttered a single word about this," Wesker countered, shutting the book closed. "Your initial course of action is understandable, but you've had more than enough time to tell me."

"And risk both my neck and yours?" Sherry burst out, tears pricking at her eyes. She fought them back, frustration burning within her. "I couldn't get to you after 2006, I found you as an amnesiac three years later, and now it turns out it's _my fault_? Did you really want me to force it all on you? If it wasn't for my silence, you wouldn't be here right now."

"Enough with the heroics; I want the _truth_!" Sherry jumped at the sharpness in his voice, sharpness marked with pain. "I've read the entries dated on late August, I've read of the moment you broke down because of the stress you were soldiering on with; I've read everything I've been able to. Don't try to hide it from me now: you didn't tell me everything, did you?"

"_When the time comes, tell him."_

_I suppose that time is now, dad._

"I didn't, you're right," Sherry said as firm as possible. "I'd come here just to tell you about that. It's time you knew."

"And whose decision was that?"

"It was William's!" Sherry snapped, scowling at him. "It was dad's decision to keep it from you, and rightfully so! Burying the truth away was his way to protect you! If not, it would've all gone to hell by now!" She sighed, biting on her lip. "It was the only thing he left as a legacy… a white lie."

"Protect me?" Wesker scoffed. He was cold, his teeth bared in an arrogant smile. "And from what, if I may ask?"

"From Spencer himself and from a sure death!" Sherry stepped forward, unafraid. "He didn't tell me that, but I figured it out myself. He saved your life and you didn't even notice!"

And then, something clicked. There was silence, the tension spiking.

"Tell me," came Wesker's command. It was neither harsh nor gentle, just demanding. "Tell me what happened. Tell me _what's going on_." Sherry watched him set the book aside and leave his gaze out of sight, his mouth a thin line. "You didn't stop telling me I'd remember; your conviction even rubbed off on me. I need you to tell me this, or else all I've gathered will be for nothing. You know that better than anybody else."

Sherry hesitated, struck by his words, but then started explaining. The moment of truth had come.

"Dad was directly involved in the Wesker Children project."

It was then that she noticed a visible change in Wesker's demeanor: he tensed, clenched a fist and stared at her in what seemed shock… raw and utter shock. "That can't be."

_I wish it wasn't like that._

She pursed her lips before continuing. "He had his reasons, too. He knew who you really were, where you were born, who raised you; everything. He couldn't reveal it, which was the toughest part; he wanted to tell you so badly… but it would only endanger both you and him."

"Didn't he leave anything behind?" Wesker inquired, having overcome his bafflement. "Any evidence?"

Sherry shook her head, unwillingly destroying his hopes. "Nothing… Well, he did leave his personal diary behind, which he gave to me, but I had to burn it: it would mark me as a perfect target. Nevertheless, I kept certain pages and those I have really well hidden. Spencer was still at large at the time, and so were you. If any of you got hold of it, I wouldn't have lasted long. At the same time, if Spencer indeed had gotten his hands on William's notes, he would've restarted the project and history would've repeated itself."

"I would've been expendable," Wesker stated, his tone flat. She nodded, downcast.

"It would've been time to refresh, back to square one," she agreed, averting her gaze. "You know…" She smiled, wistful, "I would've had a brother."

"What did you just say?"

"Yeah!" She nodded again, more enthusiastically this time. They were distant memories, painful and depressing, but Sherry remembered them with incredible fondness. "Dad would've named him Shaun and I'm sure he would've been just like him. But in the end, thanks to his refusal to get involved in the project, I lost him." She paused, letting Wesker take in what she'd just said. "Mom was pregnant at the time, and I think the year was 1984. Spencer used William to his own interest and dad didn't even know. He told him about the project; William wrote it was the worst thing he'd ever heard about, specially considering you were his best friend. He would've never dared to harm you, so he refused the first time."

"There was a second?" Wesker perked up his head, his tone hardening with hate.

"When he said no, Spencer sent him a warning." Sherry swallowed, recalling William's written words. Even written, she had sensed his pain, pain that escaped every possible description, pain so intense it had marked her. And it was because of that reminiscence that a tear spilled, but she didn't falter. "A few days after their meeting, mom fell terribly ill: she had been poisoned. Whilst she recovered… she lost the baby. The toxin had caused a natural abortion; my brother was _dead_. The second time dad was asked, it was me who was at stake." She lifted her eyes to Wesker, smirking sadly. "Now you see the reason behind our silence?"

"If that's the case, then the virus that I was given was-"

"-wasn't from a mutation stock, no," Sherry finished for him. "He wrote that he was once more threatened, and I'll quote him: 'driven to act because of my fear towards the prospect of losing my family, but I was about to lose one of those members'. Now I see how special your friendship was and how important to were to him. Then you both parted ways, and different fates befell you."

After a moment of silence and meditation, Wesker said, "He told me about Annette being sick, but I never imagined there was such a vile reason behind her illness."

Sherry smiled inwardly at such words, pure joy invading her.

_He would never have said something like that if he was still bugged off like he was before. Oh, Jill, what did you do to him that I couldn't?_

"That is our story," she said. "I never meant to harm you, Wesker, not after everything you've done for me. I just never found the right moment to tell you." She chuckled. "It was more than complicated."

But he said nothing. Wesker remained completely silent, like a tomb, which sent Sherry into a state of uneasiness. She couldn't make out where he was looking at or what he was thinking, something that did nothing to put her back at ease. He was serene, calm. Eventually, he looked up at her with a ghost of a smile.

"How long have you kept this to yourself?"

"Since I was eleven," Sherry replied immediately. "I overheard their argument on a very peculiar night: the night of my birthday. It's ironic, actually: to receive that which you're not meant to receive on such a day." She smirked. "Still, William didn't hesitate to tell me. He _knew_ what would happen to him; he just didn't know when. He wrote that himself, too. He was ready."

"A merely objective observation, but I certainly think you had guts to hold this back from me," Wesker commented, tilting his head. "Remember the day I questioned you?" He then chuckled, the sound bitter. "You have a gift for lying, something none of your parents had."

"I'll take that as a compliment, thank you," Sherry said, distrustful of his intentions.

She sighed, feeling both hollow and wounded after such a revelation. She suspected he was still taking in the facts and that it wouldn't end like she expected. Judging by his reaction and disposition towards the matter, she suspected she would end up unharmed: perhaps Wesker was having second thoughts on how to make her pay. And ironically, she was ready: there had been nothing noble in William's actions, not to mention hers. She was ready to atone for her father's own sins.

What she had not expected was to find Wesker so close to her once she lifted up her gaze once more. She let a cold shiver run down her spine, warning her of the danger of being so close. Nevertheless, nothing happened. Time seemed to slow down for her. Wesker gently laid a hand on her shoulder, a gesture Sherry interpreted as a bad omen: it would really happen.

"He would've been proud of you."

It took her a few heartbeats to register what he'd just said.

By the time she did and turned to face him, Wesker was gone.

–

**20:30 pm.**

"So, are we ready to leave?"

Rebecca turned around and found Leon standing at her door, his countenance more than casual. She found a glint of confidence in his eyes, something she hadn't seen in somebody's eyes for a long time. She barely knew Leon as well as the others did but out of the first impression he had caused her the first time they met, Rebecca had expected him to be a bit more uptight; now, judging by his demeanor, it seemed otherwise. She smiled at him, stuffed her euro notes inside her pocket, zipped her bag closed and slipped her jacket on.

"You sure look casual," she remarked. "I thought you were more uptight."

Leon simply shrugged. "You wouldn't know," he said, revealing a Glock 17 concealed under his own jacket. "I don't sit well with following rules by the book at all times. If I can say so, you're not exactly wearing combat gear either, so we're even."

"We all are, I guess," Rebecca admitted, going past him and closing the door. "And I also think we're all equally freaked out; at least, I am."

This time, Leon chuckled. "You should've offered your complaints, then. You sure you'll be fine?"

"Yeah! No problems on that!" she replied, shaking off his concern with a hasty shake of her head and a smile. "I may not have been in the field as long as all of you have, but I still can hold my own against an enemy." She was curious as to what the reason behind his concern was: they barely knew each other.

_You're still partners, you idiot, and Claire's told you about him. He's being serious._

"I don't doubt it," he said in the end. They were both silent as they headed to meet the others under the bridge.

Rebecca stiffened whenever she felt the cold metal of her Beretta against her ribs: a nasty reminder of their mission and what they would achieve with it. Her mind was still on Chris' letter, senselessly musing upon it and adding another handful of concern to the pile of it she was soldiering on with. It was incredible to see how hard and fast Chris had fallen.

_Wesker would've most likely mocked our confidence in him, considering the state he's in now._

A pang of shock hit her. _What was that for? _

Rebecca held off a smirk.

She could barely believe how fast she'd gotten used to being in Wesker's company, not to mention working side-to-side with her old enemy. She thought of him as 'old' now, specially after seeing how quickly things were changing for all of them. She had seen her friends adapt; Claire herself was acting less reluctant when dealing with him, but they were still like the spark and the flame. Whereas Wesker dealt with her with his usual indifference and sarcasm, Claire did so with Chris' fierceness and her quick wit. It was also strange to see that even Leon showed himself to be at ease most of the time, though he was on his toes more than everybody else. Rebecca could see it in his face: he was cautious, skeptical and wise.

It didn't take them long to get to the others; Sherry was also with them. They were in the middle of a conversation, all of them serious except for Wesker, who smirked after a remark was thrown at him. Rebecca crossed her arms, shuddering due to the chilly breeze, and placed herself next to Jill.

"It shouldn't take you a lot to get there," Sherry was saying. "Traffic's not that hectic at this hour and the pilot's already waiting for you. She's a punctual person, actually."

"You didn't have the chance to slip us by airport security?" Claire inquired, offering her a matter-of-factly grin and look. Sherry shrugged, tilted her head upwards.

"Unfortunately, I couldn't."

"But I can," Leon piped up in that same instant, glancing at Claire, then to Sherry. "I may be off-duty now, but I'm still with the government. I made some arrangements with Hunnigan just before leaving. Lucky I brought my clearance with me."

Claire chuckled. "Oh really? So you _are_ going to cheat this time?"

Rebecca looked up at Leon, whose eyes gave away his very thoughts. There was a special glint in them, a glint she hadn't seen in anybody else but him.

"This time, the end _will_ justify the means, Claire," he replied with a casual shrug and smile. "In fact, she should be there herself, so we won't have any problems. She's half an hour from the airport, so we'll be on time if we go now."

"Most useful thinking," Wesker remarked with unusual impassiveness. He turned to Sherry. "Remember, take the necessary steps should anything come up. You know what to do."

"Nothing will happen," Sherry asserted, firm, "that much is clear. We'll get this done and that's it, but I'll take your advice into account." She made a pause, glanced at everyone with a brief smile. "You just get yourselves back here in one piece, okay?"

The farewell-bidding was short, practically non-existent. They directly got into Sherry's hatchback, a black Ford Focus –and recently bought, as Rebecca could see- and Jill drove them to the airport. The ride was silent, not a single word was uttered, which made Rebecca more uneasy than she already was. They were making their move, they had actually _had_ the chance to make it, and it was time to step into the game.

"So, what can we expect once we get to Venice?" Jill asked, breaking the silence.

"Everything and anything," Wesker replied. "It's our luck that we're all prepared, though. We won't be easy targets; at least, not if Marco decides to use conventional methods. Knowing him, perhaps he will."

"You seem to know him well," Claire remarked, shooting a short glance outside the window.

"I actually met him once," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Also, out of what Excella told me, I made some further deductions about his character. I'll sum up everything in a simple expression: they're both complete opposites."

"How so?" asked Claire. Jill took the turn to speak this time, her tone calm.

"Whereas Excella was too high on her pedestal, I can say that Marco's not that much," she said, shifting gears. "You've all seen he's very calm and has an unusual pace for planning. He's got a good mind despite being so young, and I think you all know what I mean by that."

Rebecca saw Wesker's countenance turn slightly somber. "As I myself said, Marco can't manipulate people, but events… they're his specialty. More than enough proof is how he's managed to fake so much information in such a short time."

She decided it was time to ask her question. It had been indeed gnawing at her for a very long time, and this was the perfect moment to ask.

"What can we expect from Chris?"

She was very open; Rebecca had even doubted she would have avoided faltering. The hunch she'd had right before asking morphed into a hole in her chest when Wesker didn't reply immediately.

"Expect to find a more complex version of me… while I still had it," he said after a few moments. "Being complex doesn't exempt him from being radically simple, either, but judging by the state he's in now, I dare say he's more dangerous than he was before."

"How?" Leon asked. "We all saw what he can do, but how does his instability make him more dangerous?"

Rebecca, through the corner of her eye, saw Claire glare daggers at Leon, who shrugged it off.

_She has to understand it's a completely logical question. I myself wonder the same._

Wesker didn't hesitate this time. "A mentally stable person, in scenarios of such stress and confusion, will cling to that which makes them calm, that which puts them at ease, and that is a principle, a thought. It may be the most unusual of things, but it's always constant due to a sensation of safety. But when it comes to Chris…" He chuckled here. "He has a larger repertoire than most people. He can cling to anything, he can _use_ everything, and that makes him relatively unpredictable."

"But if we managed to figure it out ahead of him," Rebecca began, adding a bit of her reasoning, "then we would have the upper hand, wouldn't we?"

"Certainly," Wesker replied. "Where he finds, let's say, solace is in his second self, the one that is currently in control."

"But that's the problem: he's still unpredictable in a way," Claire piped up, her tone fiercer than before. "We don't know how that second self of his is."

To Rebecca's surprise, Wesker chuckled. "Oh, but you do, which is why we are keeping you and Jill as the queen and king of this game. You two must know him better than anyone else."

Claire scoffed as Jill pulled the car to a stop at the parking lot. "Heh, excluding _you_, of course?"

Wesker's only response was a brief smile, more sarcastic than anything. Rebecca felt a bit down in the dumps as she collected her bag from the trunk.

It was going to be a long trip.

–

Sherry didn't go back inside until the car was well out of sight. It made her uneasy to know she would have to stay miles away from Wesker and that in one moment or another, anything could go wrong. Sherry herself wasn't very optimistic herself since life had taught her otherwise, but Wesker had done his very best –and those had been his words- to reassure her. Jill had also shown herself as bright, looking on the lighter side of things, but even she had not hidden her worry and unrest. She had openly confessed that she was afraid of not coming back and what was worse for her: to find Chris alive but in an irreversible state… or even _not_ finding him. Sherry, in that moment, had remembered the sarcastic compliments Wesker had some other time thrown at Jill many years ago, whilst their enmity was still strong, and found no other choice but to agree to them… without the sarcasm, of course.

She gathered her wits, pulled herself together and went back inside. As she took the elevator, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She stared at the screen in distrust for a few moments, seeing it was an unknown number to her, but then picked up.

"Hello?"

"_Change of plans, honey; they're landing at _our_ station_." The voice was a woman's, mocking and wicked, and it didn't take Sherry long to figure out who she was talking about.

"Hey, what-?"

But before she could complete her furious question, the line was cut.

* * *

_A/N: And there you have it. _

_Yes, I firmly believe William was involved in the Project. It has been a theory that has been roaming my mind and I was desperate to include it in this story, so there you go. Everything that Sherry's told Wesker is true (at least, that's how I see it). Let's see how Wesker takes it because, if you remember, we still have Jacob, Lara and Garrett (from the first epilogue) to deal with. As I said, they had a lot to do with Wesker & project; consequently, they (or not all of them) are _somehow_ related to/have had something to do with William. Don't worry, it'll be explain, though much later on._

_20 cyber-cookies for those who guess who just called Sherry about that change of plans. Yes, there will be because I will be getting some other characters to interact with the group, so stay on your toes. Remember the offer with the cookies: let's see who gets the guess right. We'll get to Chris & co. soon, too, so the more reason to keep an eye out._

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	9. Chapter VII: First Steps

**Author's Note:** Alrighty, sorry for the late update. I'm really happy with the feedback I'm getting, so thanks to all of you guys for leaving it. Here the truth is revealed about that mysterious woman in the previous chapter and her intentions. The gang is up for a few bumps in the ride, but nothing too serious. There will be an interlude as the next chapter whilst I keep writing the story; thanks to exams, the updates have caught up to my writing. Don't worry, this will still keep going during Christmas break.

**Disclaimer: The usual. I do own my OCs.**

* * *

VII

First Steps

_Silent Noise_

"Just what the hell is going on?"

One minute, they were flying to Venice with no interruption or turbulence whatsoever; the other, they were being held at gunpoint by the 'pilot' and the 'assistant', both of them packing the punch of a .45 caliber firearm. Jill and the others were also armed, each one with their weapon of choice, and also had them trained on the other people. Jill felt a pang of trepidation when the pilot's gaze fell upon her, an intent look of icy impassiveness through narrowed eyes. It was no match against those Wesker had shot her countless times, but it still unsettled her.

"There's been a slight change of plans. Birkin knows about it, be advised," said the pilot, a heavy Japanese accent in her words. "We are heading over to Zurich now."

_Zurich? What the hell would we do there?_

"A 'slight' change," Claire began, stepping out to the aisle and steadying her aim, "they didn't tell us about."

Jill could clearly see the result of the training she had received over the years: her hands were still, her stance firm and her Glock aimed at the pilot's head. It was impossible to know which course of action hers would be, but it was obvious that she wouldn't hesitate to shoot if things got complicated. By her side, Wesker had the safety off and was ready to shoot; he'd been since the very beginning.

Jill gathered her wits, tightened her grip on her standard Beretta. "Let me guess, Tricell?"

The Japanese woman laughed, the sound chipper in spite of the circumstances. "Tricell? We wouldn't stoop _that_ low, no."

"We're with someone else, _Ceannaire_, and she's willing to exchange information with you." The man was the only one whose identity could be known thanks to the clearance card sticking out of his pocket. Jill could make out his name was Ulrich.

"What kind of information?" came Leon's question, his finger making an unsettling move towards the safety of his gun. "How could you help us?"

"_Ceannaire_ could," replied Ulrich, shooting a hard glance at Leon, who didn't flinch. "If you're willing to make a detour, that is. Just so you know, Shizuko and I aren't people you should consider enemies, and not our employers either. We're biased most of the time, but we're on your side this once."

"And who is this 'leader' you talk about?" asked Rebecca from beside Claire. "What do they want from us?"

"Information," replied Shizuko, apparently easing her grip on her Desert Eagle. "But it won't go unpaid: _Ceannaire_ has more for you, especially for the two ghosts in here."

Jill felt as though Shizuko's black eyes were boring a hole into her skull and seeing right into her mind, even past her as if she were a transparent shell revealing the turmoil inside her. Whatever information they had, it did seem to be important. But who was this _Ceannaire_, this 'leader' as Rebecca had said?

_A mystery after the other._

She stole a quick glance at Wesker, whom she expected would make the decision in everyone's behalf. She didn't doubt her skill to negotiate, but the ground they were treading was deceiving: one false move and it would all go to waste. Silence fell like a heavy rock amongst them, leaving Jill to deal with Ulrich's furtive glances. Just by that, she could tell there was more to the situation than met the eye: they wanted _her_ for some reason. What information that she held was supposed to prove valuable for this group?

"Then perhaps if this leader is willing to reach an agreement, we will oblige," Wesker said at last. Jill suddenly realized he had remained in the same position: nothing that had happened had disturbed him… as usual. In the end, Jill holstered her Beretta, an action that earned her a questioning look of anxiety from Claire.

"He or she should unless they want the ghosts to disappear again," she said, frowning at Ulrich and Shizuko in order to harden her features. Shizuko lowered her Desert Eagle, turned and disappeared behind the blue curtain that led to the cockpit. Ulrich remained in his place for another moment, his gaze fixed upon Jill, and then imitated Shizuko. It was then and only then that the tension seemed to subside.

"So we're mere specters now, huh?" she half-uttered to herself, her voice thin.

"You should get used to it," Wesker told her. Jill looked at him, wasn't surprised at the smirk on his features. "But I believe anonymity is something you've been seeking for some time, yes?"

"I suppose so," she replied, sitting down again. "But what information would they want from us? I don't understand; it's a mystery after another."

Wesker chuckled, settling back in his seat. "That's something you _should have_ become used to by now, I think."

"So ghosts, right?" came Claire's question. It wasn't mocking; merely curious and perhaps with a tinge of concern. "You're still not in the grid, Jill?"

"I should be," she said, folding her arms across her chest. She should be indeed, since Chris had done the impossible to get her back in action and ready to start a normal life. The world had turned a literally blind eye to her profile, like she was never there. It had taken its time, but Jill Valentine was a name that was once more remembered after such efforts.

Then, it all made sense.

"Good God…" she whispered, taking a hand to her mouth in shock. She snapped her head at Wesker, who cocked an eyebrow at her reaction. "Tell me, or just anybody who can remember," She decided to throw the question at everyone, "Did the news of my death make it out to the world? Was it made public?"

"It didn't." It was Leon who replied. Jill turned to face him. "So I was told, they just let all of us and the government in on the news. I could be wrong, but not all of the matters related to the BSAA saw the public light… did they?"

_How do you explain that Shizuko _knew_ you were a ghost, like she said?_ Came Jill's subconscious' question. It was more that logical when it concerned Wesker, since he was more of a public affair than she had been, but if the news had been classified information to whom few people were privy… then it would be impossible for any other group to know unless the sources had been _good_.

"What's roaming your mind?" Wesker asked her, but she didn't listen. The pieces were fitting together, completing a part of the puzzle. She made a list of everything: the BSAA had dissolved a week after the failed mission, the information had been classified, the news of her death hadn't been made public, an apparent sworn vendetta against Tricell… For some reason she couldn't figure out, with the feeling that the piecing of the information didn't make any sense, she reached an illogical but also plausible conclusion.

The BSAA was back in action.

Jill voiced out her thoughts in a whisper everybody paid attention to. She made her point clear, also introducing the excuse of having a mere hunch, but initially everyone believed her.

"That would explain a lot of things," said Claire, "especially the whole 'don't consider us enemies' thing. But if they were back, why wouldn't they make themselves known?"

"Operating behind the shadows, perhaps?" Rebecca reasoned with a light shrug. "It would make everything a bit –if not a lot more obvious. Maybe it's true."

Leon chuckled, drawing their attention to himself. "I'll be damned if that 'information' they told us about involves Tricell in some way, which would consequently mean that it involves Marco-"

"-and Chris…" Claire whispered as he said it. Jill noticed she had paled a bit, struck by the revelation. "Then I guess we've got to go through this. I'd prep a plane if Chris had taught me how to pilot some kind of aircraft, but he skipped that part of the training."

Jill smiled. "I think he did well, because if you pilot the same way you ride…"

Claire frowned, stiffening. "Just because I like to ride fast doesn't mean I do everything the same way, excuse me!" But then, she laughed. "Okay, fine, let's just forget about it. But… how did you reach that conclusion?"

Jill lowered her gaze, blinking a few times. "I don't really know. It's kinda come because of my instincts: they kicked in, that's it. And I think I don't even have enough proof to… get this conclusion out, but I feel that's exactly what's going on."

"It is plausible –they seem to be well informed," Wesker said with certain sarcasm.

"We could leave you aside; you're the obvious case here," Claire snapped at him, her frown deepening further.

Jill never thought Wesker would laugh at such a remark, no matter if the laugh had been brief.

"Isn't Jill another example of the obviousness?" he inquired. "Fine, I'll let you leave me aside, but may I remind you the whole world still thinks I'm quite gone? They must've gotten their hands on good sources to have found this out."

"He's right," Leon agreed, nodding at Claire. "Even I wouldn't have known if I hadn't been told about it." He scoffed. "A bit ironic, isn't it?"

"I'll give you that, alright," she acknowledged in the end. Then, a small bump in the ride. "And… it looks like we're about to land. Leon, did I really sleep that much?" Leon nodded his answer, which put a smile on Jill's lips.

"Don't let that abash you," Wesker remarked with a smirk. Nobody except Leon heard Claire's insult.

–

Allen was waiting at the heliport, taking comfort in the small amount of heat the sun provided through the clouds. It had dawned unusually windy and cold that day, but Allen was already used to cold winters. After his parents died, he moved to Oslo with his uncle, with whom he spent most of his early life, before moving to Moscow to find a suitable job. An American hadn't been a common sight in those cities back in those times, so life proved to be a little more difficult for him. In the end, he settled as an economic and computer analyst, but the latter had been regarded as a hobby. He would always remember the date when he had met Amanda: March 14th, 1997. It was what set off the countdown until his next moving: Allen, a year later, would move in with Amanda and settle down in Zurich, where they had been living until the present day.

Allen thought about that day with a wistful smile, allowing his mind to wander off for a few moments. But then, the familiar sound of an approaching aircraft drowned out his thoughts, the silhouette of a helicopter coming into view. He readied himself for the wind that would hit him in mere moments, a strong wind that would remind him of the days in the middle of icy plains in Norway. It came in less than he had expected, the waves of wind so strong that the door opened and slammed closed. Allen didn't close his eyes neither did he completely shield them from view; he just tilted his head downwards, his gaze still fixed upon the descending transport. He saw there were five passengers: most likely those who Amanda wanted to see. When the helicopter touched down, the five passengers jumped off one by one.

The only one Allen recognized was the brunette: it was Jill Valentine, the key to Amanda's puzzle. It was as if she was clad in a cloak of apprehension: it was obvious in her eyes. At the same time, her gait was determined and demeanor was more than convincing. Behind Valentine was a red-haired woman, also young –perhaps the same age as Valentine- and with eyes that told him she was Valentine's complete opposite. Her bright blue eyes were narrowed and not just because of the wind. The others were another woman, this one considerably shorter than the others, and a young male with serious eyes.

_Amanda couldn't have picked a better-_

His sarcastic remark was muted by the sound of his own gasp, though Allen tried to remain as collected as possible. The last passenger that jumped off the helicopter was none other than Albert Wesker, of whom Allen had had the misfortune of hearing. He seemed to be just like Allen had been told: his demeanor did nothing to prove Allen's suspicions wrong. He watched Shizuko exit the cockpit and trot towards him, her long blueberry dyed hair ruffled by the wind, and Allen understood with the very slight nod she sent in his direction.

Allen looked up at Jill, who was the first one to reach him.

"Looks like they _did_ keep you short on details," he remarked, cracking a brief smirk. "Come on, I'll take you downstairs; you've got to catch up on some things." He turned his wheelchair around and proceeded inside the building, making sure the group was following him. As they went down the stairs on foot, Allen went down mounted on a small automatic platform installed on a side of the staircases. It was normal routine to use it, so it didn't take him long to reach the lower floor: he didn't like to keep people waiting, be it strangers or not.

As they went past the elevators, one of them opened and Mark, a close friend of his, stepped out with a bit of a curious expression. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Allen flinched before frowning. "Keep a lid on it, Mark. Anyway, do you know where Amanda is?"

"The usual place, where else?" Mark replied with a shrug of his shoulders. Allen sighed and headed towards the Main Ops room, where Amanda was likely to be found at every hour except at night, where she would either be at her office or at their apartment. After a while, Jill asked,

"So is this Amanda who keeps herself behind a codename?"

Allen couldn't help a smile, a smile Jill didn't see. "Yeah, most of us do. Before you poke any further, you'll learn the reason why from Amanda herself." He took a left turn. "By the way, my name's Allen Keyes… and yes, puns are allowed for those who cannot help themselves."

"You picked us up with a bit of a short notice, didn't you? Why?" Allen assumed it was the red-haired who had asked the question.

_She's got spark._

"About that, I believe I should apologize in behalf of… well, perhaps Amanda," he began, "but we were also short of time. She will explain herself, let's hope."

"And if she doesn't?" came Wesker's question.

"Then I'll make her," Allen replied right off the bat. He wouldn't hesitate, not in front of him. "She owes me that much."

And then they were inside the Main Ops room. It was large and spacious, with a ceiling many feet above their heads. Several monitors were posted up on the far wall, revealing all the information they needed at a time like the actual one. A few people paced to and fro, some of them delivering folders of documents to the workers stationed at the computer tables, but the usual high-spirited ambient was yet to disappear. Allen knew everyone was a hard worker, striving to do their best, and he smiled at the feeling. He had spent so much time and effort working in that room that it already seemed like home.

And amidst the people stood Amanda Graves, who had turned around the same moment they stepped through the door.

_This isn't gonna be good._

–

There was no silence to feel uncomfortable with, only people. Many of them were staring with mixed emotions. It was more than clear that the predominant emotion was distrust, followed by perhaps intimidation, shock and disbelief. Now that Jill thought about it, there were indeed two ghosts standing in front of a crowded room: there was no place for doubt. She glanced at Allen, who didn't seem to notice her, and then he said,

"Well, here you have them. I just hope you're not planning to take the whole day with this."

The woman in the center of the room smirked, the gesture overconfident. Jill had the feeling she was familiar, that she had seen her somewhere before… but where? "It won't take long, that's for sure." She turned to fully face them, her stance firm and chin high. "So, the ghosts finally make their appearance."

"Unfortunately, we lack a third," Wesker intervened with his usual coldness as the woman's smile widened. It was unnerving, and it was because of that gesture that Jill finally figured out who she was. She had seen that smile before. She frowned, making sure, but that mere change in her expression was enough for the woman to tilt her head upwards, as if looking down on her.

"Yeah. You know me, I know you: we're even. Pity you didn't recognize me before."

"Jill, what's going on? Who is she?"·came Claire's hushed question from behind her. Jill managed to say it.

"You're Leah... you're Oliver's sister."

It had come in just a moment. Jill had seen Leah before, at a press conference Oliver had once given. She was of Jill's same height and build, with jet-black hair cut in a boyish fashion and amber eyes that could kill if given the chance and enough time. Oliver had told Jill he and Leah weren't related by blood but by the re-marriage of his father and her mother, hence the differences between them. Whilst Oliver was known for his down-to-earth personality, Leah was known for her bite.

"That's right, you still remember. Amanda Leah Graves at your ser- oh, well, perhaps just _my_ service," she said, sardonic. "I don't tend to work for others, just so you know."

"A smart move." Wesker's 'compliment' made Amanda grow stiff, her brows knitting together. He very nonchalantly took a few steps forward and though relaxed, Jill could see he was taunting Amanda with just his stance, whether he was aware of it or not. "Since you play for keeps, allow _us_ to do the same: I'll start asking you how is it that you knew she and I were the ghosts your Japanese colleague talked about."

When Amanda spoke, all sarcasm was gone and had been replaced by mild defiance, "Do I need to mention the obviousness of _your_ case?"

"I've heard that one often," Wesker interjected with amusement. Jill had remained in her place and was listening with attention.

"It won't be the last time you do," Amanda snapped. "The only reason I know of Jill Valentine is because Oliver told me about her. He was the one who told me the news of her death because yes, they hadn't been leaked to the public. After the BSAA was dismantled, most of those responsible for the cowardly action of betraying them went AWOL: some of them, we've taken care of. It was the eve of my acceptance into the BSAA, so I had been given clearance by Oliver beforehand… which is why I have accessed all classified files and all that stuff."

"So it looks like you know of the mission that went wrong," Jill intervened, shifting her stance. Amanda nodded.

"And in full detail," she said. "You've got quite the resumé yourself," she added with a wide humorless smile.

"Looks like this is the BSAA again," Claire interjected for the first time since their arrival. At this, Amanda grimaced and wrinkled her nose.

"We, the BSAA?" she scoffed, then laughed out loud. "Let me tell you you're mistaken: we may be fighting against Tricell and everything that involves Umbrella research like the BSAA did, but we're different. We're clandestine; we're better, _stronger_. We're not corrupt like the BSAA was, because it _was_ corrupt. Those bastards wouldn't have turned their backs on us, on _all _of you, if they'd shown some courage and backbone. We picked up from where they left off and I promise you we're doing one hell of a job at it."

"Then I suppose you've been tracking us down since the very start?" Wesker asked, but didn't wait for an answer. He shook his head. "Too conspicuous."

Jill was taken aback: Wesker, bluffing? Or had he hidden something from them?

"Conspicuous or not," Amanda said, smiling, "we did our job and we did it nicely. I would've thought you, out of all people, would know how to recognize a nicely pulled-off plan."

"And you're not mistaken," Wesker agreed, his tone once more amused, "but I also know when that plan's destiny is utter failure."

"Like your last one was?" Amanda's voice was steely, dripping with sarcasm and mockery. Jill wasn't surprised when Wesker didn't hesitate for a single moment: he was more than ready to deal with people like her.

"A mere bump in the road to victory," he replied with a dip of his head. "They usually happen."

Jill sensed Claire growing tense beside her: he had spoken with the carelessness and the coldness of the Wesker they had known for so long. Amanda's smile suddenly vanished, her eyes narrowing to slits.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't put a bullet through your head," she growled, "and make it a _good_ one."

Jill watched Claire step forward; she couldn't stop her from saying, "Because we haven't kept our part of the deal." Wesker turned around to face Claire, the hidden harshness of the movement telling Jill he hadn't expected that. "We all have information you want. If you make a threat, it's because you can pull it off and not just scare your enemy. If you put a finger on him, you're not getting what you want. And I, like my brother, keep my promises."

A pause.

Jill was taken aback. Claire was known for being gutsy whenever the situation required it, but to face up to someone who had a bite like Amanda's wasn't easy. Amanda, as Jill had already figured out, had a wicked tongue and a quick wit to conjure up the harshest of comebacks, but not even that impeded Claire from making her position clear. Her features had hardened, an unseen glint of rage in her eyes.

Amanda sighed and crossed her arms, a gesture that pointed to her attempt to not snap back at Claire. "You've got guts, but they're not enough. I can't believe you've turned your back to brother."

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Claire repeated, raising her voice. Amanda clenched her fists, a deep scowl on her face.

"I want to know where he is." Her voice suddenly quivered for a brief moment. "Where's Chris Redfield?"

Quick as mercury, Leon made himself known. "Where we were heading. If you'd asked before and with other methods, perhaps we would've told you."

"_Where_ is he?"

"And what do we get from telling you?" Claire piped up. "Heh, you're going to kill him, aren't you?"

Jill gasped and corkscrewed around to face Claire, whose attention was on Amanda. Amanda released a laugh. "A smart cookie, after all! He's a threat, that's what he is, and he's infected, he's a host… he's a traitor. Do you want any other reason? The list is endless!"

"He's my brother, for crying out loud!" Claire exclaimed, blanching. Jill's gut knotted up: the situation would soon get out of hand. "We're doing all we can to get him back! Y-you didn't have to stick your nose in _our_ business! We didn't ask for it!"

"Claire-" Leon laid a hand on her shoulder, but she slapped it away.

"Are you really that anxious to kill him?" she continued, drowning out Leon's warning. "You should know what it means to lose family!"

"I do, yes," Amanda replied with all normalcy as the busy ambient of the room subsided and welcomed silence. "What's your point?"

"You know he's my brother; what are you trying to achieve by killing Chris?" Claire scoffed, a gesture to which Amanda visibly stiffened. "You can't stand the pain of your loss and so you've got to bring me down to your level. That you've lost Oliver doesn't mean I have to lose Chris just so that you get some _goddamned_ peace of mind!"

There was absolute silence.

Jill was simply awestruck at Claire's words, the scowl on her features revealing how much she was hurting inside. Her pain, as Jill suddenly discovered, was contagious: she was so right that it hurt. Jill turned back to look at Amanda, who had also gone white and was staring at Claire with wide eyes. But then, that expression of shock and mild anger morphed into one of disbelief and cockiness. Amanda laughed once more, and Claire's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"You may be right," Amanda said, rubbing her neck. "You never know, really. But I've got nothing to lose, _Claire_, so I have the liberty of placing my sense of duty above family. Unlike you, I've already gotten over the loss of my brother; you've lost yours but you still can't accept it."

"To judge, you must be a witness," Wesker intervened with a tip of his head. "I'd assumed life had taught you that particular lesson."

Jill sincerely hoped Wesker's callousness would deal some kind of blow to Amanda's ego, because she was going too far. The prospect of placing duty above family had never sat well with her, and it was incredible to see somebody trying to impose such philosophy onto somebody like Claire, who still had family to cling onto. When Jill saw Leon rub Claire's arms reassuringly, she couldn't help an unseen smile: Claire was lucky to have somebody like him by her side.

"It's not worth it," Amanda uttered, her tone venomous. "It's not worth it." Then, "Allen, I'm going to check up on a few files."

And with that, Amanda took the east exit and disappeared from sight.

A few moments of silence went by before the people in the room turned back to their work. As they did, Allen placed himself next to Claire, looking up at her. "I suppose you wouldn't accept any kind of apology?"

"I don't see why you have to apologize in her place," Claire began, averting her gaze away from him; then, she looked back at Allen again, "but it's alright." She sighed, gesture after which Jill gave her an encouraging nudge in the arm. "God, it happened so fast… I really don't know why I said anything, but…"

"You've got a bite that matches Amanda's pretty well: you've gotten on her bad side" Allen remarked, pushing up his glasses with a frank smile.

"It's her problem, not mine," Claire snapped, shrugging. Allen chuckled.

"I know her well; you put her in her place."

"Why are you congratulating me all of a sudden?" Claire asked, leaning back against Leon. Allen's smile widened.

"It's not that. I admit she was going too far, but be warned: she really has got nothing to lose."

"So she's got a vendetta against Chris, too?" Rebecca inquired, hands tucked inside her pockets. Allen shook his head.

"It would seem so." Allen sighed. "I think she thinks Chris killed Oliver."

"What?" Jill blurted out, careless. "That's-"

"-a bit of a twist?" Allen completed with a smirk. "Yup, it is. Don't ask me why she thinks so, but it's like that. Oliver knew me well, he knew I'd make Amanda… well, let's say change; he trusted me. After the BSAA dissolved, I knew you and Oliver were the only ones left with common sense: I know you tried to set things right by killing the son of a bitch that got all of you into this mess." Jill grew stiff when Allen addressed her. "Oliver told me about Chris, his apparent 'death' and how someone had agreed to help him pull Chris together again. Pity we were too late; I hope Greene gets what she deserves."

"There's something I don't understand," Jill said, voicing out her thoughts, which drew everyone's attention to herself. "Why would Oliver trust you more than his sister?"

Allen looked forlorn. "Amanda's and Oliver's relationship was a bit difficult; it always was, though that never weakened their bond. He was somehow overly protective of Amanda, and he knew she would follow his steps when she had the chance," Allen replied, downbeat. "I have the feeling Oliver had smelled the mess _way_ before it hit the fan but… either he let himself be killed or he really was tricked. Amanda knows part of the truth; that's why she believes the contrary to what happened."

"It won't help matters, but maybe 'indirectly' would settle something in a near future," Wesker said with a light shrug. "It's exactly what happened, and I suggest we settle this matter the sooner, the better."

Jill looked at him, inquisitive, but he paid no heed to her gaze. She knew why. Amanda had just entered their game, and her blow had been pre-emptive.

And luckily or not, she had missed.

–

"Don't let it get to you. It'll be settled," Allen said with that trademark frank smile of his. Claire smiled back and watched Allen leave in the other direction, his wheelchair creaking slightly.

She wondered how was it that Amanda and Allen got along so well when Amanda was more dangerous than a viper and had a shorter temper than her own. Allen had 'briefed' her and the others about most of their relationship, skipping details Claire had considered obvious, but she still couldn't totally understand Amanda's personality. Of course, you never knew somebody entirely by looking at them nor by just exchanging a few words with them, small talk sometimes, but Claire's interest had been piqued. Despite Claire had already placed herself in Amanda's bad side and was still upset by her words and disposition, she knew there was more to her than met the eye. She had been told Oliver was Amanda's stepbrother, so perhaps that factor played in her favor when it came to building up determination.

Allen had showed each of them a room where to stay, much likely against Amanda's will, but Allen himself could've cared no less. Claire had been the last one he'd spoken to since, as Allen had said, he wanted a bit of a private word with her, and she was thankful for it. She didn't know why, considering Allen was somebody she'd just met, but he had caused one hell of a good impression. He had the looks of a simpleton and a happy-go-lucky guy, with shoulder-length brown hair in a slight need of a trim, bright but serious dark eyes and simple clothes. Claire hadn't asked him about his disability; he hadn't made a single mention of it, either. What he had joked about was his own name and his skill with tools, hence his lenience towards those who made a pun on his name. He had been open and sincere with her: she didn't know if that was his personality or if he had seen something in her.

_Offhand, he's a nice guy. And he's got to be tolerant and have infinite patience if he's stood Amanda for so long._

Claire stepped into her room. It was simple, like a hotel room, but it was well lit and had a cozy look to it. It consisted of a single bed, a desk at the far corner, a bathroom and a closet: the basics. There was also a mirror next to the closet, and she walked up to it. She looked at her reflection without actually seeing it, her mind wandering away. She was probably overreacting, but what Amanda had said about Chris had hit a nerve in her, had made a flurry of emotions to rise in her, emotions she had felt very frequently.

_If she places duty above family and has such an opinion against Chris, then I'll show her she's wrong. I'm going to get him back and she won't stop me._

"_Expect a more complex version of me…"_ Wesker had said back in Manhattan. As she let her hair down and combed it with her fingers, Claire's mind suddenly went back to Rockfort, where she had bore witness to his superhuman abilities, and then remembered what Chris had told her about them. If Chris was indeed more complex, more dangerous, more… powerful, then Claire wasn't likely to stand a chance against him. She frowned, blinked a few times as she weighed her options. She settled for an insane but logical conclusion, one that perhaps wouldn't happen. It was worth the try, though: Chris' survival and her own depended on that.

Claire had no second thoughts on it. She dropped her bag next to the door and dashed towards Wesker's room, trying to undo the knot in her gut with words of reassurance. A shiver ran up her legs and spine when she reached her destination. She was about to request help from him! Wesker, her and Chris' sworn enemy!

_I'm insane… but it's got to work. Otherwise, I'm lost._

She knocked a few times but got no response. Then, a sound similar to Wesker's voice came from the other side, so she made her way in as carefully as she could. She wasn't surprised when she saw the room to be almost identical to hers and like her, he hadn't unpacked. Because of her survey of the room, she failed to notice Wesker had turned to face her; when she did, she jumped. He chuckled.

"You come in looking for me, knowing where I'd be, and it turns out you didn't expect me to be here?" he inquired with a smirk. "A good paradox, don't you think?"

She shrugged, gathering her wits, and a black mark on his right arm suddenly caught her attention. It snaked around his forearm and hand like thread and Claire could've sworn one of the loops just undid itself. The faint lighting of the room made it difficult to distinguish clearly and although the hunch remained, Claire paid no more attention to it. Wesker had noticed her stare and reached toward his jacket.

"You don't-" Claire began, which made Wesker stop and look at her. _I might as well finish the sentence._ "You don't have to hide that." She fell silent, breaking eye contact in a contrite gesture, and then his grip around the jacket loosened: he didn't pick it up.

"And you should let your hair down more often."

Claire jumped at his remark, feeling her cheeks blush intensely. And there he stood, as casual as if nothing had ever happened! She once more gathered her wits and replied, "W-what- Was that a compliment?" A laugh of disbelief escaped her. "You're not hitting on me, are you?"

Wesker chuckled, amused. "I wouldn't risk it, to be frank."

"Then you just like making me nervous?"

"It sure took you long to realize that," he replied, cocking his head to one side. Then, his tone changed, "Do you need anything?"

The moment of truth had come. It was time to be open and put her cards on the table.

"I've… I've got a favor to ask from you," she said, tucking her fringe behind her ear.

"And I've got a question," he said. Claire nodded, giving him the go-ahead. "Why is it that you turn to me instead of somebody else? I take it you trust the others more than me, so I see no logic to your decision."

Claire bit her lip, then said, "Because you are the only one who can… I'll be honest: you're the only one who can help me this time. You can't imagine how much I've wanted to avoid this, but doing it would be stupid." She was bringing herself down to the level he had always placed her in: the level of helplessness. She was giving him the satisfaction of hearing her ask for his help; he was probably enjoying it as much as a serial killer with a brand new weapon to use.

_A bit of a dark metaphor, really…_

But when she looked up, she found no trace of cockiness or arrogance in his features, only curiosity. "At least you're smart and know where to look for assistance. What's that favor?"

Claire took a deep breath. "Back in Manhattan, you mentioned Jill and I were the only ones who… who could deal some 'damage' to Chris' mind and make him listen to reason."

"Correct."

"And you also said he was a more complex version of you." She fought back tears not of humiliation, but of raw anger. "If he's really more complex, and consequently more dangerous and powerful, then…" She cursed herself when her voice faltered.

"Let me guess: you fear you will not be able to fight him when the time comes," he stated, neutral.

She chuckled, bitter. "Do you read minds or something?"

He shook his head. "No, not minds: eyes." Wesker shifted his stance. "I'll be frank with you, if you allow me. I've seen it now, I saw it back when you were arguing with Amanda, I saw it back when you pointed a gun at your brother: you've got that same look in your eyes. You're not afraid of what you're capable of doing or what you might do, but of the impotence. Correct me if I'm mistaken."

To her dismay and, somehow, relief, he wasn't mistaken. Claire was also afraid of that he had mentioned: she knew that, in an outburst, she could do something she would later regret; she also feared being unable to do it, to simply watch as Chris suffered a fate worse than death. And she wanted to be strong, stronger so that she could fight on par with him, stronger so that she could get him back.

"You're not mistaken," she admitted, looking away. "I just don't want to be a witness to his actions: I want to fight him. And I think you know what it means to strive for strength?"

"I do, yes," he spoke with a nod. A pause, then, "How far are you willing to go?"

"E-excuse me?" Claire couldn't help a slight stammer: would it end how she hadn't expected it to?

"How far are you willing to go, Claire, to get him back?" Wesker asked, his tone harder than before. Snapping out of her shock, Claire stepped forward.

"Anywhere," she replied without hesitation. "As far as it takes."

Silence followed her words once more, then Wesker smiled. "It seems we three have more in common than I originally thought."

Claire frowned at this. "We're nothing like you. Chris and I do strive and fight to get stronger, but it doesn't go beyond that." She sighed.

"I guess you're not going to help me without getting something in return?"

"To be honest, I won't ask for anything yet," Wesker said, pensive. "The debt will be paid in due time. You know what I would ask for would be for a chance to kill him once he's regained his common sense," he told her with a crooked smile that quickly disappeared, "but no, that's not what I want yet." He made yet another pause. "Tell me something: do you trust me enough to put your skills in my hands?"

"What do you mean with that?"

"For you to stand your ground against Chris, I'm going to give a full three-sixty spin to your skills; it will be like going back to square one," he explained with two steps towards her. "It will be a short but intense training, so don't expect me to start easy on you. I may be lenient at rare times, but have in mind that is a luxury you will not have when facing your brother."

Claire nodded, taking in all he had said. "I suppose it's not a matter of trust and-or lenience: it's about getting on to the matter and pulling through." She let out a sharp exhale. "So yeah, I trust you that much. _Don't_ ask me why, but I do." Suddenly, she felt like smiling at him. "Thanks."

"Did I just hear a 'thank you'?" he asked, more rhetoric than anything. Claire chuckled.

"It must've been your imagination; I didn't say something like that," she replied, shrugging. She shared a long look with him, as if breaking the silence was a rule not to be broken, and then he said,

"I'll see if we can use a place to start today."

"Today?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"The early bird catches the best worm, or so the saying goes," he remarked with a matter-of-fact gesture. "We can settle the time between nine and ten, though I believe ten would prove better."

"How long would it last?"

"As long as necessary," was Wesker's impassive answer. Claire accepted the consequences of her decision: it was that or running away, and she would _not_ do that. She nodded, walked to the door and with her hand on the doorknob, she faced him with a smile, half of it hidden by her hair.

"Alright. And… thanks again."

"I just thought of something you can do for me: don't say that again," Wesker said, turning around.

"Why not?"

The look he sent her over his shoulder gave her the impression the comment would be sarcastic.

"You'll make me blush."

Claire was simply floored. Though predictable, it had also taken her by surprise.

She would make sure to kick his ass in return.

* * *

_A/N: Okay, so things are building up: I have introduced Amanda & co. to you, Amanda and Claire are officially arch-enemies because of their different points of view on family and Claire looks about to lose her mind. Yes, I am getting her and Wesker to interact a bit more (this will NOT head the way some of you may be expecting; I'm not changing the pairings). Wesker has agreed to help her for a very good reason, a reason that has come back to bite him: if you re-read the last few chapters of DoU, you will see Claire did something that was of great help to Wesker. That's the way being a man of your word comes back to bite your butt, I'd say xDDDD_

_On another note, I am well aware that some of you may not like how I've shaped Amanda, and rightfully so. It's the first time (but not my last) to shapte somebody up like her, with such a snappy and self-centered personality. She's also on the side I wouldn't dare to step on unless the situation required it, so I've kinda fleshed out my dark side in here. Beware, she's not a carbon copy of myself but she's got a few attributes I have. Whether you like my decision or not, I thought it was the best choice. I mean, how else can you shape a character if not looking at yourself at first? _

_Next time: an interlude focusing on everyone (including Vithar, Chris and Marco) and opening YET ANOTHER plot; I'll let you guess, too._

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	10. Interlude I: Darkest Hour

VIII

Interlude I: Darkest Hour

**September 4th, 2009**

**Zurich, 22:30 pm.**

_Strike or die, strike or die, strike or die…_

A hard kick to her forearm caught her unawares and brought her back to reality: she had allowed herself to be distracted by her own thoughts. Claire quickly regained her footing and counterattacked with the same movement, mustering all the strength available. The kick was followed by a few others, a succession of swift and strong attacks she had never performed before. That mere half hour of training was already paying off: she was getting better, though she knew she still had a very long way. Claire jumped back to avoid a hard elbow to her stomach and then raised her fists in front of her face, unwilling to let her guard down. Instincts were kicking in, and those instincts were telling her the man in front of her was still her enemy no matter what. She stood there, panting and staring at him intently.

"You've caught the concept fast," came Wesker's observation as he straightened, something Claire had forbidden herself to do. "I had thought it'd have taken you much longer."

"Chris' training is paying off," she remarked, feeling her heat beating normally again. A small smirk appeared on Wesker's features.

"But it wasn't enough, was it?"

Claire didn't reply. When she flinched involuntarily, what she feared happened: Wesker lunged towards her, as fast as ever, but Claire was ready. She steadied her footing, her bare feet supporting her weight in a more comfortable and dynamic position that would allow her to react fast, and she hardened her abdomen: she knew most blows would go there. She was on the defensive, dodging or blocking every blow he sent her way, taking account of the swiftness of his movements: if that was wearing her down, she didn't dare imagine Chris' skills.

She decided to try something new, something that also came with heightened instincts. When Wesker sent his last blow, Claire pivoted to the right, turning her back to Wesker. The same moment the tip of her right foot touched the ground, she concentrated all her strength in her left knee, the adrenaline helping in the spiking of her awareness and determination. With those as her support, she dug her knee on Wesker's side, feeling how he bent right to the affected side, but he was also quick in recovering: it seemed as if he hadn't even felt it. Moments later, Claire was flat on the floor, her back against the cold dais, with Wesker pinning her down. Once more, she had given him the satisfaction of winning. Still, he made no comment about it.

The seconds of silence that went by seemed like hours to Claire, hours of pain and frustration. Eventually, Wesker withdrew and left her room to recover. Claire sprung to her feet and seeing Wesker made no attempt to attack again, she felt she could relax. As she recovered her breath, a dreadful image flashed across her mind, one that made her heart skip a beat. What if she saw herself in her previous situation only with Chris threatening her life? How would she react?

"Why is it that you hesitate?"

Wesker's question sent her mind reeling: didn't he know the answer already? Their worlds were incredibly apart, and yet he knew a good lot about hers; if that was the case, then why was he asking the question? Claire straightened, crossing her arms.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said at first. "Wait, wait, I _do know what you mean; I just don't know __why you ask that." She was in disbelief, staring at him like she had never done before. "I… Dammit, it should be obvious to you!" she exclaimed._

"And it is," he agreed. "What I don't understand is why you can't get that out of your head. If you're doing this, it's because you had thought it through, am I right?" He gave a light scoff at her silence. "I didn't think so; it was just another one of your brash decisions, wasn't it?"

"You're wrong: I thought it over more than a few times," Claire snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. "It takes time, you know. I'm not like you."

"Luckily," came his very dry statement.

Claire sighed, redoing her ponytail, when her attention fell once more onto Wesker's left forearm, onto the black marks. They intrigued her; what had they been caused by? Wesker hadn't been too keen on showing them, and the reason why escaped her. Of course, that wasn't something pleasant to let the world see, but she wanted to know why. She plucked out the courage to step forward and ask,

"Are those…?" She couldn't finish, left the question hanging in the air. Wesker was who sighed this time, and Claire quickly corrected herself, "You don't have to tell me."

"You didn't have to ask, but you did anyway," he replied, looking down at the markings. "To satisfy your curiosity, yes… they have been caused by the virus. These are remnants; they remain dormant under the host's skin. They're relatively harmless whilst in that state, so they pose no problem or threat. When the virus settles, your brother will have these, too."

"What do you mean 'settles'?" Claire echoed, tilting her head in concern.

"I'm talking about the moment the vaccine has its effects on Chris… _if there is one and we manage to find it," Wesker replied, meeting her gaze. "The vaccine won't act as the serum does, not by a long shot. I suspect he'll have to go into treatment after this… ordeal."_

"How relatively harmless are those remnants?" Claire asked. "I have to know."

"Coming into contact with any Progenitor-derived substance would trigger the virus' defenses, ergo it would grow again in order to ensure efficiency," Wesker explained, rolling down his sleeve. "The serum, regardless, plays a minimum role in this, but it will still be necessary."

Claire couldn't hold back a shudder: just imagining the situation gave her the creeps. Wesker seemed to hold the key to Chris' survival, a fact that was more than opposite to what he had told her and Jill about being the only means to deal damage to his psyche.

_I'll be damned if he ends up saving Chris' life. He's doing as much as he can to achieve that, apparently…_

"Is there any way to treat them? The remains of the virus, I mean."

"I'm not sure." Claire was thoroughly surprised when she heard his answer: it was the first time Wesker seemed to be in doubt. "I wouldn't risk it though; as long as they stay put and knowing how well Chris copes with everything, they'll be of trivial importance to him."

There it was, that venomous tone again.

_He misses no chance to bug the hell out of me! He's so ambiguous I can't make any sense of what he wants and what he doesn't._

"They are and they will," she snapped back, crossing her arms. "He'll pull through; if he doesn't, we'll help him."

Wesker smirked at her words, but she expected no less from him. She knew he would cover behind his usual façade: what did he know about family? What did he know about how much and with what kindness people could care for others?

_Care for others? Hold the phone…_

"Earlier, you told me you didn't want anything in return yet," she began, firm, "but what you didn't tell me was _why you had agreed. Is there a reason for the silence? Or better yet, is there a reason for agreeing?"_

"I have my reasons, but it's not the moment to disclose them." Wesker smirked. "_Or better yet, I will not disclose them. You do understand what it is to have secrets?"_

"Except when the person is the secret themselves," Claire replied, frowning. "Sadly, I never understood that." It was time to give the screw another turn. "You never say anything and then you talk about misunderstandings. Dammit, I am like this! You have my being in a silver platter; I've stripped myself of all façades because you asked for it; when we do, when _I do, you're silent as a damned tomb!" She sighed. "You can't pull the rope any further; either you let go on your end or we won't get anywhere. You're my brother's enemy; hell, you're still mine for all I care! This is not a one-way street, and you should've known from the start."_

Silence, then, "Since when?"

"Since Sherry changed my mind about you." Claire hastily shook her head afterwards. "No, let me rephrase that: she didn't change it _completely, just a few things. She turned a few pages and left others untouched, but my view changed regardless." She sighed again, feeling a harsh throbbing on her chest. "Also, it's because of Jill."_

"What part does she play in this?" Wesker asked. Claire knew she had hit a nerve.

"You're not stupid, that much is clear. Don't play dumb with me; she has _a lot to do with this," she snapped back, her frown deepening. "Either she knows really well what she's doing or I think that siding with you will be a choice she'll eventually regret. You did the unspeakable to her and I still haven't seen or heard her do or say something against you. Same thing with Sherry, too; she told me almost everything."_

"What else do you want, then? You've got enough sources of information, so many I don't have to speak myself. Is it a personal statement what you want?" He scoffed. "I'm afraid you won't get it."

"Why?" Claire insisted. She knew perfectly well she was treading on fragile ice and that she was doing nothing against its breaking. She'd make a mistake sooner than later. "Why did you agree? Why am I here with you instead with somebody else?" Claire stared at his scowling features; it was a lost cause. She wouldn't get anywhere. "Damn it-"

"Helping you is the least I could do."

Claire snapped her head back at him, wide-eyed. "What did you just say?"

Wesker was unusually serene and calm… after giving a straight answer? Something was off. "You wanted an answer, didn't you? I won't go into details, but have in mind what I've told you. Another tug at the rope and I'll be forced to do the same."

"Th-the least you could do? What do you mean?" she asked, a chill running down her spine. Wesker didn't reply as immediately as she wanted him to; instead, he had a look at his watch, as if ignoring her. In the end, he said,

"I'll leave that as pending to be answered; I have other things to take care of." The ghost of a smile flickered across his features. "And don't ask about what they are; if you do, I'll dig even deeper next time… and that, mind you, is not in your interest."

Claire couldn't do anything to stop him from leaving. But she didn't care about what he did or didn't do; she had gotten more answers, but more questions had risen. She turned her back to the entrance, pensive and biting on her lip.

_"Helping you is the least I could do."_

"What could I have done for him to say that?" she wondered out loud. "Does he have an obligation of some sort?" She exhaled in exasperation. "God… dammit, if you're up there, I need a hand. I need it, and I need it quickly."

Her words fell on someone else's ears.

–

He had rushed to the boy's room, had burst inside and now, he was holding him in his arms, Vithar's despaired sobs and shallow breaths stirring something from deep within. Vithar was shaking with no control, his cries louder than before, and the boy kept gripping his clothes with almost superhuman strength. He knew the reason behind that fear: a nightmare of the worst kind Vithar could have. He himself had experienced that kind of fear, fear as wild as a raging sea.

"I-I… I… Freya… She-she…!" Vithar could barely speak: he was literally asphyxiating, his breathing speeding up. He released brief cries of pain through gritted teeth, attempting to speak all the time. Even Chris started shaking.

"It's alright… it's alright, Vithar, please calm down." Chris patted his back and held him tight. Vithar's despair gradually disappeared but it was replaced by sudden tiredness. Before the boy could slip from his arms, Chris held up his weak body and laid Vithar back upon his bed. His trembling had subsided, his breathing almost back to normal, but his body was unusually limp. His eyes were moving everywhere without actually seeing; Chris' concern did nothing more than spike.

**_Would you look at that? What's gotten into you?_**

Chris shook his head, kept his attention focused on Vithar.

Eventually, Vithar moved and rolled onto his side, keeping his pale face out of Chris' sight. Tears spilled from his sapphire eyes, his form racked by uncontrollable sobs. It wasn't the first time Chris had seen a boy like Vithar cry, but it nevertheless got to him.

"I… I think Freya's… Freya's dead," sobbed Vithar, clutching the pillow against his body. Chris frowned, silent. "I saw her… in my dream. I miss her…"

**_Doesn't that move you?_**

_SHUT UP!_

Chris laid a hand on Vithar's shoulder, moving closer to him. He calmed down, remained still as his last tears rolled down his face. Vithar's words made him think about Claire and for a moment, he smiled. How was she doing? It seemed he'd been years without seeing her or hearing from her; at the thought of her, something warm bloomed in his chest… but not for long.

**_You're gone, remember?_**

"It's going to be alright, Vithar," said Chris with a sigh. "She'll come back."

"You said you were going to help me find her," Vithar retorted. Chris chuckled.

"And I am. Marco told me he'd do his best to find her, but I still have to get an answer from him," he replied. "Just don't worry. I can see he cares for you both; he won't let you down."

When Vithar smiled at him, Chris was taken aback. He knew Vithar had harbored a great amount of fear and distrust against him, but that smile was just what Chris needed to know all matters were solved. A smile full of appreciation was what he had been looking for.

_But how many times have I gotten those from Claire…? From Jill, too. I remember those. They were wide and genuine, and sometimes I'd laugh along. I miss it._

**_You shouldn't but c'mon, let's face it: you're at your goddamned leisure. How could I influence you to think and do like you HAVE to?_**

"Thanks," Vithar said. Chris nodded as an answer, and then Vithar asked, "Why did you leave your sister? I know you loved her. Don't you anymore?"

**_Yeah, why?_**

"Vithar, of course I still do. Like it must've been with Freya, she's the best thing that happened to me," Chris replied almost smiling, "but you know that sometimes you have to… make a choice regardless of what those close to you think about it. Look at me; I'm not normal. I never wanted to be like this and I never should've been. Marco is fabricating a cure for me… but I have to give something in return. No two ways about it. After all of this is done, perhaps I'll be able to get back to her."

"I thought your eyes were normal," Vithar remarked, shifting his position and making himself comfortable. Chris chuckled.

"You think they are?"

"Well," Vithar began, hesitant, "I've been in a lot of places and I've seen them of many colors, but… yeah, I guess they're not." A pause, then, "How did it happen?"

Chris didn't reply immediately, turned his gaze away from Vithar's. They were bitter, unforgotten memories that had retired to a corner of his mind to never come up again. Without being aware of it, Vithar was rubbing salt into his still open and aching wounds, but the boy would never know.

_This is getting to me more than I thought._

**_What did you expect? Vithar has lost the only family he's ever had and you have willingly drifted away from yours. How did you expect yourself to take it? _**

_With a bit more easiness. It's been a while since I've seen Claire or anybody I know, and I've done things they would've never expected from me. And now that I think about her, I just can't do this anymore. _

**_We went through this, didn't we? Focus, Chris, dammit!_**

"A mission went wrong," he simply said. Then, noticing Vithar had been expecting more, he added, "It was an acc… no, it was a mistake I made and I was infected. When I woke up I was like this… changed, almost unrecognizable." He sighed.

"I'm trying to get back to normal, Vithar. And yes, I also want to get back to my family, my sister. I don't know if I will, though."

"You will," Vithar said, chipper. Chris looked at him, shocked. "My master does those things well, vaccines and others. He'll help you, I know that. Unlike me, you'll get back to your sis."

"Who said _you wouldn't, kid?" Vithar smiled at his words. "It'll be fine."_

"Ah, sorry I didn't get here in time."

Chris turned around. Posted at the door was Marco, his countenance firm but his eyes belying his true state of mind: waking up in the middle of the night was never good. Chris was somehow glad to see him, considering Vithar and Marco were like father and son. Vithar sat up, a small smile lightening his features up, and Marco went inside the room.

"Is everything alright, Vithar?" he asked, looking at the boy with genuine concern. Vithar nodded, livelier than before.

"I am. Chris has been here with me," he replied, looking down at his hands. But Chris didn't look up, fearing that Marco's gaze would bear a hole into his skull.

"Has he now?" Marco smiled. "Well, that's been thoughtful." When that pause came, Chris knew something was off. He lifted his gaze up at Vithar, whose expression had changed at the sight of Marco's surely different one. "Vithar, there's something I have to tell you."

Chris stood up and moved next to the mirror in Vithar's room as the boy nodded, tentative. "What is it?"

"I had thought of telling you in the morning, but you made me promise I'd tell you everything I found concerning Freya," Marco explained, taking a seat close to where Chris had previously been. Chris watched the scene unfold, a knot in his gut.

_Vithar was right. Something's wrong with Freya._

**_Aww, now you're worried?_**

_Do you want me to stand here without even caring?_

**_You were supposed to._**

Vithar gasped, reached forward to grasp Marco's hands. "What do you know? Where is she?"

**_He reminds me of you. _**

_We both care for our families. Do you see that as strange?_

**_No, but I thought you hated yours. I thought you hated Jill and Claire, those who you always considered family. Are you having second thoughts?_**

Marco sighed. "The search team I sent has found her…" At this pause, Vithar's features had hope written all over them. "… but she's dead."

At last, the glass was shattered. Vithar gaped at Marco, his eyes wide like saucers, and his own fragile hands started shaking. Tears once more ran down his face. "No…"

"They're going to bring her body back." Marco was clearly having trouble to get it all out. "They don't know if she's still alive or not; they told me she was dead right off a first glance." As Vithar's sobs turned louder, Marco pulled him close to him. "Vithar, I promise you I'll do everything and anything to nurse her back to health. I swear to you, boy."

_I was wrong: Marco has a heart, after all. He cares for them as if they were his children._

**_Like you did once with Claire, right? Such bittersweet memories…_**

Suddenly, they heard a chuckle from Vithar. "We… we don't have that much luck, don't we?"

A sad smile crossed Marco's features. "I suppose we are quite the strange lonely trio. Your situation will change soon, Vithar, and Freya will be with you again. Now," Marco pulled back and dried Vithar's eyes, "think you can get back to sleep? You did take your medicine, didn't you?"

Vithar nodded as a reply and laid back upon the bed, pulling the sheets over him. After a feeble 'goodnight', Marco exited the room. Chris remained looking at Vithar, and then he left.

Outside, as he accompanied Marco to his study, he was firm and silent.

Inside, he felt the most excruciating of sorrows.

**_You were never supposed to be there. How're you going to get back on your groove? What are you going to do now?_**

_I'll keep going._

–

"It's so good to see you!"

Jill couldn't help but laugh as Sheva pulled her into a tight and friendly hug; a moment like that one didn't come every day. "I'll say it is!" she replied with a wide smile. "I'm glad to see you're all doing fine!"

Aside from Sheva, there was also Josh, Alice and Mitch, the both of them being close colleagues and friends of Jill's. Having in mind the organization was a 'new and better BSAA', Jill had never expected to find them there. Sheva and Josh's case could be explained, but months before their last mission Jill had received word of Alice and Mitch's engagement. What could've brought them there?

"It's been a long while, hasn't it, Valentine?" Mitch greeted with a wide smile. "How're you guys doing? We didn't hear from you two since you got back."

Jill felt a pang of uneasiness in her chest. He was clearly asking about Chris; what to tell him? That he'd been infected with a virus that had nearly killed him but it actually brought him back to life and that he was now in cahoots with the mastermind behind Tricell?

_Uh… no, that's not gonna work._

"We're doing fine, yeah; thanks for asking. Don't ask me why he's not here; I guess he didn't want to drop by." She knew she sucked at lying, but thanks to some of Wesker's advice, she'd actually managed to seem convincing. Alice groaned.

"That's sad to hear. It just because Mitch is around; you guys don't do well together," she said, nudging Mitch, who chuckled.

"Yeah, we never did. Anyway, we had just dropped by to say hi; we got things to do. See you some other time."

"Bye. It was nice to see you, too," Jill replied with a frank smile. Because it was true: she hadn't seen them in ages. Familiar faces were always pleasant to come by. She turned her attention to Josh and Sheva, in front of whom Jill felt she could breathe again. "Damn it, what was I supposed to tell them about Chris?"

"Sadly, I would've done the same," Sheva admitted, shrugging. "But speaking of, do you have any other news?"

Jill shook her head. "No, unfortunately. Like I told you before, he left without even saying a word. He left us a note telling us where he was after he'd left with Marco, but we've got no other leads. We're just following him to Venice; from then on, it's a question of time and hard work."

"So he adapted? Completely?" Josh asked, and Jill clicked her tongue.

"Yeah, he did," she said with a frown, "and it's worse than we all thought… _way worse. He wouldn't have left otherwise." Jill sighed, closed her eyes and clenched her teeth tightly. What could he be suffering because of at the moment? What could be torturing him and tearing him apart? She didn't dare imagine._

"He'll make it; he'll survive," came Sheva's response. Jill looked up at her, saw her smiling. "If he found the strength to get to you, he'll definitely make it."

Jill was surprised for a moment, then she laughed briefly. "He's that persistent, but…" She sighed again. "I-I don't know this time. We're doing as much as possible to get to him, but we can't make any progress other than what we expect to do: mostly nothing."

"It will be alright," said Josh, resting a hand on Jill's shoulder. "We'll help as much as possible from here, too."

Jill smiled. "Thanks, Josh; I appreciate it."

For some reason, her heart somersaulted. It was incredible how much support she could get.

–

"So that's your plan? Planning as you leave?" Amanda scoffed. "Tch, well, away with you; do what you want… but don't expect us to cover your backs; we got things to do too."

"You assume too much… _Amanda," Wesker said as he hardened his tone. "Since when had we expected to rely on you?"_

"And with that 'we' you just refer to yourself, right?"

Amanda wasn't one to lose patience; that much was clear. They had spent the last twenty minutes discussing the MO of the next day; the conversation had been full of scathing remarks pointed at each other and even at the others, but Wesker had by all means avoided both hearing and throwing any kind of insult at them. Amanda was sharp, firm on every answer and with a sense of humor not many had. Instead of snapping at him, she had been more than glad to play along and go with his flow; it was now _his patience the one wearing thin._

"Naturally, yes and no; all answers are, up to this point, plausible," he began, noticing how one of her eyebrows rose ever so slightly, "but it's not the case: I speak in everyone's behalf. We all reached an agreement."

Amanda's gaze dropped to her desk, her body unmoving, and then she looked up at him again. "Yeah, I can get that done. Means of transport, say, by midday? Though the sooner, the better, I'd say."

Wesker couldn't help a brief smile at that simple remark. "For me… and _you, isn't it?"_

Amanda returned the smile, crooked and sardonic. "You catch on quick. Now you see why I want all the information I can get as soon as possible? I don't like wasting my time or others', mostly mine."

"I'd say your time is more expensive than mine, by the looks of things," Wesker remarked, leaning back in his seat. "If that's the case, then I shouldn't bother with… hm, more of that _information you are searching for. I'm sure you want to get much-needed rest?"_

And as he expected, she took the bait. Any other way and she would've seen it.

"I can wait, my matters can't," she told him, leaning forward. "Are you going to tell me or do I need say 'please'?"

He had her right where he wanted her. Now it was a matter of setting out the facts and making his way through her statements and questions to reach an agreement both of them couldn't back out of.

This agreement, Wesker could afford it.


	11. Interlude II: Didn't Know, Didn't Know

**Author's Note:** Okay, dreadful questions that are prone to appear are ahead. This chapter makes the story take a turn for the worse, and why is that? Because of some even that takes place at midway. It might seem a little bit and incredibly sudden (lol) but it's got its explanation, which I will deliver eventually and perhaps a behind the scenes kind of thing. In the meantime, I am introducing another character which will be Wesker's future center of attention. Try and guess who she is (yes, it's a she; and no, it's not an OC). Hang on to your seats, gents; this is going to be a bit of a ride.

**Disclaimer: The usual.**

* * *

IX

Interlude II: Didn't Know, Didn't Know

_Gone_

_September 5__th__, 2009_

_I could've avoided this._

_I could've avoided this whole mess, but I didn't. Instead, I turned my back on you just for my own sake… but I couldn't do anything else. She's got her, my little cousin… She's been tracking me since Atlanta… Remember that? When we went out… visited the city center? I don't know how she came to know about me, you… Oliver. B-but he's got nothing to do with this, I swear to God. _She_ knew who we knew, who we were friends with, who we held close to us…_She _even knew what our plans were, for fuck's sake… She even knew _that_…_

_You're going to find out about this, that's for sure. You were always smart and quick; you're going to notice this as soon as you wake up. Open your eyes, please, and realize I haven't been as loyal as I always wanted to be. But if I don't keep the blindfold over your eyes, she'll… she'll kill her, she'll kill the poor girl. She revealed herself as 'the origin' a couple of days after Oli's funeral… And all this time, even though you've had overwhelming evidence of what really happened, I still haven't shown you the true big deal. I can't… not until I'm dead. But as you listen to this, I probably will be._

_Unlike you, I can't put duty over family; I just can't… I wish I could, but I can't. Instead, I'm doing my best to save her; she doesn't deserve what's happening to her. She's threatened your life, too… and I can't lose you._

_God…_

_I'm pathetic, I admit it. I'm a goddamned coward and I haven't done anything against it. There hasn't been a single day throughout which I haven't regretted what I did, what I've been doing to you all this time. Every time I was with you, it felt like I was pointing a gun at my own forehead; I knew I'd have to pull the trigger at any time._

_But you never realized._

_And so I sit here, telling you what I dread to tell you face-to-face._

_I'm a coward and I don't expect you to forgive me. I expect you to forget me and erase me from your life because there's nothing you can say or do that will change my deeds._

_I'll miss you, though. I'll miss you terribly._

X

"I'll miss you, though. I'll miss you terribly."

And releasing a long and shaky breath, he put the recorder down, not feeling his chest any lighter as it was suppose to be: the weight on his heart and shoulders was even heavier than before, excruciatingly heavy. He buried his face in his hands, then clenched them so hard he thought he'd draw blood. Tears were still falling from his eyes, but no sobs would rack his body. He had betrayed her… and because of what? Because of somebody that perhaps didn't even exist?

They'd been after this 'number twelve' since the agency was established; had they been chasing a ghost? They had never found him, and yet… _he_ had found _them_ first. With grief, he remembered number twelve's call: either he kept the truth under covers or she died. Agatha, his little cousin, would be dead in the blink of an eye and, as he'd sworn, "I won't do it behind your back. You'll hear as I put a bullet through her heart."

_What else could I do? Now's the time that I question where my loyalties lie…_

Something that had long ago been so perfectly clear was now swathed in darkness. With no light, how to look in the mirror?

–

**September 5****th****, 2009.**

"So you're telling me this whole building was like this?"

Whilst she waited for Amanda's answer, Jill found herself wondering how she had managed to keep up a conversation with her without having any unpleasant topic pop up. Amanda was stiff in Jill's presence, but at least that didn't keep her from shedding a bit of light on some matters.

"Not really; it took us a while to get it running again. We cleared most of the offices because of the lack of space and a few other things," Amanda replied, looking up at the lights in the ceiling. "We got it running soon enough, though."

"I see…" Jill let her remark hanging in the air. She was slightly startled when Amanda met her gaze; she had never thought that would happen. As Amanda stared intently, Jill neither blinked nor moved. Eventually, Amanda frowned and looked away with a sigh. "Now that we're alone, tell me something: why do you want to kill Chris? If you would just listen to what really happened, perhaps you'd change your mind."

Amanda straightened and seemed more than willing to talk, something that, for Jill, had had a fifty percent chance of happening. She clasped her hands together and said, "Alright, do tell me. Oh, but I'll answer to your question first: if somebody betrayed me, I wouldn't give them a second chance. I have a slight idea of how strong your relationship was –mine was no weaker than yours- but like I told you, I have the luxury of placing duty above family. I've got nothing to lose."

Jill took a deep breath: it was time to snap her out of whatever reality she was living in. "Since when have you thought that? Why, even? We all have something we care about."

"Are you trying to teach me something?" Amanda snapped, her eyes ablaze with previously unseen fierceness. "Look, my mother and brother are dead, my father doesn't give two shits about me and I'm here trying to catch the bastard that killed Oliver."

"That's not what happened, goddammit!" Jill exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air. "That's what I'm trying to tell you: please, how could Chris kill Oliver when they were so close? Just… consider it! He might've been infected at the time of Oliver's death, but I swear he was unconscious! It never happened like you think it did!"

"Tell me what happened then," Amanda said, clenching a fist, "and you're story had better be good."

"I think that, as fast workers that you are, you caught wind of Maria Greene's death a few days ago, didn't you?" Jill began, recalling recent events. Amanda nodded. "Wesker and I, let's face it, were involved in the whole thing, but not directly. Once we got to the BSAA's headquarters in Manhattan, we were surprised by Oliver's arrival and guess who was with him?"

"No shit…"

"Yes," Jill spoke with a serene nod, "it was Greene herself and another one of Marco's accomplices. Oliver had believed they were a couple of forensic specialists –by the looks of it-, but he was wrong. Greene pulled out a gun and shot him, square in the chest and at point-blank range. There was nothing we could do."

"W-wait, it was… it was Greene?" Amanda was, to Jill's surprise, in deep shock. She nodded. "Oh my God… Oh, shit…"

"We barely got out of there alive," Jill continued. "Oliver, during his last moments, helped us create a distraction so that we could kill Greene's partner and knock _her_ out cold. I thanked him before leaving and I still do: we wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him."

There was pure horror and disbelief in Amanda's amber gaze. "So all this time… I haven't-" She suddenly felt silent, apparently having remembered something. "Oh, God… I-I asked for a forensics report on Oli's body two months ago… Oh, fuck it!"

Without further ado, Amanda pelted up the hall, leaving Jill to wonder what Amanda had recalled.

_She asked for it two months ago? I mean, two months ago no less! What's… what's she been thinking all this time, then?_

–

Amanda couldn't run any faster.

That request on the forensics report to the NYPD had been delivered to them no less than two months ago; it was September and still no word about it.

_I've got to ask Allen about it; he's got to have it._

Tears came to her eyes for the first time in aeons. If she had been so surprised at Jill's revelation, it had been due to denial. Yes, _denial_, as stupid-sounding that word was to Amanda. Had she been so blind so as to avoid any and every type of evidence that proved her accusations wrong?

Had she avoided the truth all this time?

_Please, Allen, I've got to find you. If you lie to me, so help me, I will kill you._

It was as she thought this that Amanda took her gun out of its holster, still with the safety on. Part of her mind blamed her own stubbornness and lust for revenge, on her inability to see things like they were, no layers or covers to them. The other part blamed Allen: what had he been thinking? To hide something so important from her? That report _was the key_ to Amanda's questions and the whole matter; without that forensics report, all would've been for nothing. Amanda felt her heart pounding in her ears harder than usual.

"Allen?"

"He's in the archives, cap'n," came Mark's voice from behind her. She didn't even bother to turn and thank him and raced down the hall to her right. Knowing Allen and his occasional lack of caution, he was bound to do something reckless when out of her sight. Before she could fully realize it, Amanda had burst through the door to the archives section.

Allen was in front of her, sitting on his wheelchair and facing the door. His head was hanging forward, his body limp.

"Allen?"

"Looks like you've got the gun ready," he spoke with a hoarse voice. As Amanda tensed, he chuckled: he seemed out of it, his marbles more than lost. "Doesn't surprise me, though. I wanted to ask a favor from you, in fact."

"Where's the forensics report I asked from the NYPD two _damned_ months ago?" Amanda inquired, keeping her voice on a loose leash. "_Where_ is it?"

"It's on your desk," Allen said, chuckling again. "I left it there before coming here. I had thought you would go to check your office first, find the report, read it and by the time you noticed, find me dead here with a bullet through my head."

Amanda's heart shrank; she could even feel her chest heavy with anxiety. She tightened her grip on her Glock, then stared at Allen's ghostly expression as he lifted up his face to her. His eyes and cheeks were red from crying, his hair was out of place and so were his glasses. He was slouching in his wheelchair and had a 9mm handgun in his hand, much to Amanda's horror.

"Why didn't you give it to me?" she inquired, stepping forward.

Allen smiled. "You know why, Strangelove. You perfectly know why."

Amanda pointed the gun at his forehead. "Mind refreshing my memory?"

But Allen remained with that cocky smile on his face, giving Amanda no choice but to take the matter further. She removed the safety, and was sure as hell Allen had seen that. It was strange for her to notice there was no remorse, no hesitation: if she had to pull the trigger, she would. That was what life had taught her day after day after _fucking_ day.

"You can't force me to tell you," he said, shrugging. "I never will. You're never gonna know why I was such a bastard to you from the moment this operation started."

_**Amanda, don't do it.**_

"You son of a bitch… After _all_ this time, you dare do this to me?" Amanda bellowed, stepping even closer to Allen. "You _fucker_!"

"I'm not the only one to blame," Allen replied, shaking his head slowly. "Who's the one who's been blinded by revenge? Not me. Who's the one who didn't want to listen to me about the evidence? Not me. Who's the one who rejected almost any and every type of help? _NOT ME!_"

Amanda exhaled sharply in disbelief. "You tell me this after sympathizing with me? Tch, you're incredible."

"And you're a coward." Amanda felt her ego shatter a bit more. "C'mon, pull that trigger: you ain't got the guts, do ya?"

"You think I don't?"

"I think you don't have 'em."

Amanda felt like smirking- no, _grinning_ until her cheeks were sore. She stood mere inches away from Allen, the gun still pointed at his forehead. And Allen was still smiling, his glassy, hollow eyes staring at her as though nothing was wrong.

"You _don't_ have what it takes to kill your best friend!" he exclaimed.

"Wrong."

–

_What the hell-?_

A gunshot, and from not too far away. Leon headed towards the source of the sound at full speed; if that had been a stupid move, then there was no telling what ruckus it would arise, and that wouldn't be good at all. He took the first door he found to his right, opening it very slowly, and it led him inside a large library. For a moment, he remained rooted to his place. There were almost dozens of bookcases in sight, each one with perhaps no less than fifty books, some others with thick folders full of reports and other kinds of documents. The room itself was wide but not too high and, at the far end of the room, about where the bookcases ended, there was long table.

The room was eerily silent considering a gunshot had just come from inside, so Leon tried not to disturb that silence and go unnoticed. Some distance in front of him, at the end of the bookcases, he could see somebody with their back turned to him. He approached that person with caution, having had his hand on his sidearm since the very beginning, and took deep silent breaths. Once he was at a considerable distance, Leon was struck with a pang of shock: it was Amanda, with a Glock in her left hand and the floor next to her stained crimson. A wheel was also visible: a wheelchair… Allen.

_No way she just killed him…_

"What a remarkable way to get in here," she remarked. "No sounds whatsoever save for the light echo of your steps." Amanda turned, Leon didn't hesitate to withdraw his gun and train it on her. "I expected no less."

"Why did you do it?" he asked as calm as he could remain. Amanda's lip curled up in derision; a second later, she was also pointing her gun at his head.

"What makes you think you can poke your nose into _my_ business?" she exclaimed, her finger moving to the trigger. "Huh? Tell me! Come on!"

But Leon said nothing; instead, he took a step back as he lowered his 9mm and holstered it, all the while keeping his gaze on Amanda's. She didn't imitate him, like he expected, and scoffed. "You finally learnt something; good."

"I didn't withdraw because of hurt ego or submission to your humiliation," Leon countered, narrowing his eyes. "I did it because if you have the will to shoot, then you should do it now. Though unlike you, I've got things to lose."

"Then why the hell have _you_ come here?" Amanda snapped, not lowering her Glock. "To humiliate me in return?"

"At all," Leon said with a brief smile. "I don't know why you're so jumpy. Why would I want to humiliate you?" he asked, spreading his hands. "It wouldn't do me any good, I guess."

Before either of them could say anything else, footsteps flooded the room. In just a moment, Claire and Wesker were there, both of them seemingly both ready to jump into action if it was necessary. The same instant they both made their entrance, a fleeting moment of fear and hate flashed across Amanda's features, but only hate remained. Claire was the first one to talk, having noticed Allen's lifeless corpse with just a mere scan of the scenery.

"Oh God… Why?"

Amanda's eyes were narrowed to slits. "Am I going to get the same question over and over?"

"Unless you answer, yes," Claire snapped back, firm. "And if you don't want to, fine, but that's not going to leave you alone."

"And _what_ would _you_ know about it?" Amanda asked through gritted teeth.

Before she could get any closer, Leon moved an inch closer to Claire and got in Amanda's way. Amanda scoffed again. "You cowardly-"

"Let's not go too far," Wesker intervened for the first time. "Are _you_ going to cower behind _your_ self-pity and avoid telling us about what just happened here? Speak for yourself, then."

"Look who's talkin'," Amanda spat, clenching her fists. "You bastard…"

"Can we just leave enmities aside?" Leon interjected, his tone as cutting as he could make it be. Amanda's glare was terribly strong, but it was no deterrent he couldn't get over. "I'm doing _my_ own best to not be led by prejudice; can't we just _talk_? Know what the hell's going on?" He shot a small glance at Wesker, knowing he'd perfectly catch the hint, then looked at Amanda again. "Look, if you don't wanna talk, then fine by me. But if you don't, we're going to have to step in and poke our noses in your business. Your call."

Amanda remained glaring at him, almost breathing heavily, but Leon wasn't one to back off when the cards were on the table: you had to play till the very end. Eventually, Amanda said, "_I_ killed him. There, happy?"

"Not much," Leon replied, straightening his stance. It was time for him to handle some of the talking. "Let's get specific: and the reasons why? What about them?"

"He _betrayed_ me. And you remember what I said about those who betray me: I kill them without a moment's hesitation," Amanda explained, her voice a low growl. "Allen was no different. He thought I didn't have the guts, but I proved him wrong. Now he can start damning me to the deepest pit of Hell, but no matter: I will meet him there." She swallowed. "He betrayed me and he didn't tell me why."

"What a Machiavellian cookie," Wesker remarked, sardonic. "Are you sure he left no clues behind?"

"None that I know of," Amanda replied, growing stiff. She turned her back to them and leaned on the table, lowering her head and sighing heavily. Leon caught Claire's worried glance and shot him one of his own. What Amanda had done had dealt more damage to her than he imagined.

_She sure showed herself to be cold-hearted, but it looks like she's still human in some way. Killing a friend with your own hands is h__ard, especially when it comes to short-term effects._

"Before I killed him," Amanda suddenly began, "Allen said he'd left a forensics report on my desk. Valentine's heard about it."

"And what does that report say?"

"I haven't read it, obviously," she spoke with a bitter chuckle. "I requested it from the NYPD to get the facts straight." She turned and, as she walked past them, said, "Let's go. I'd say we're all looking for answers."

"You think it's about…?" Claire left her question hanging in the air; Leon seized it immediately.

"I think so. Let's find out."

–

Jill and Rebecca met up with them soon afterwards. After being put up to speed, Jill was no less shocked than how Leon had admitted he had been when he'd first seen Allen dead. Also, after being told of that brief confrontation in the library, curiosity was once more rekindled. Jill didn't understand how Allen could've betrayed Amanda, or so she had claimed, considering how close they were and their long history together. Out of the blue, it made no sense… no sense at all.

She focused again on reading the aforementioned forensics report on Oliver's body and how the detectives had reconstructed the scene. The police had taken Grant's body away for thorough examination and identification; they had also found blood samples belonging to Maria Greene and another gun lying close to Oliver's body. Three different guns were identified: Oliver's own gun, a standard Beretta 92F; a .40 caliber Glock 22 that was found literally clean of fingerprints and another .40 caliber, which had been the gun that had killed Oliver. That last gun, though, was never found. Piecing the scene together, Jill could make out a simple outline: _Grant dead, Oliver's gun not responsible, not the clean gun either, Greene's gun is never found. In the meantime, Chris is unconscious._

What didn't go without mentioning were the other two people that were identified aside from Chris, Greene and Grant: they had been herself and Wesker.

_Of course…_

For a moment, uneasiness settled in: were they on the police's most wanted list? It was after turning the page that she found a post-it note on the back of the sheet. It read: _W and V are clean. Yours to handle._ Clearly, that note pointed to the contrary of what she'd initially thought. Perhaps they'd been left alone on Amanda's personal request? If that was the case, then now Jill had something to thank her for.

_Thanks to her, we haven't got the police on our backs._

"That's what I'd been trying to find out," she heard Amanda say, "but without this report, I had nothing… not to mention I didn't want to open my eyes. I tried to think out of the box, but I couldn't." She looked up at Claire. "I don't expect you to understand."

Claire said nothing at first, only sighed. "And I don't," she said in the end, crossing her arms, "but hey, sometimes we can't understand why we do what we do. This is just another case." Amanda straightened, so did Jill. Would she be that lenient?

_No, I don't think so. Claire's not like that._

"So the whole thing was just a misunderstanding?" asked Rebecca, then shrugged. "Dammit…"

"Right on," Claire agreed, good-natured. "I just knew there was something fishy going on here… and speaking of fishy things: any clue on why Allen could've betrayed you?"

Amanda shook her head, which led Jill to believe she was telling the truth this time. There was nothing more than honesty in her amber eyes. "None yet." She sighed.

"What I still don't get is how you could kill him so…" Jill found herself unable to continue, but it was just for a brief moment. "So easily. You two seemed really close."

"He defied me, so I see no reason why shouldn't have taken up his challenge," Amanda replied in an all-too-simple and matter-of-fact tone. "He also betrayed me, and I'm not going to risk everything I've accomplished just because of his mood swings. People need to know where their loyalties lie before choosing a side; if it doesn't suit you, then stay out of the deal."

_He didn't look like the type of guy who would betray somebody just because he felt like it. There must be something else…_

"Right now, I have to sort things out." Amanda closed her eyes for a moment. "And… I think I owe you, _almost_ all of you, an apology."

"Though I'm not going to say 'Alright, it's all good', at the same time I'm not going to ask for full-fledged apology," Claire piped up, looking straight at Amanda. "Consider me at an inbetween; let's just leave it settled and that's it. The only thing that's left is retribution." Hands on her hips, Claire stated, "If we need any sort of help, then we'll ask you."

"I've got my own things to take care of," Amanda snapped, tilting her head to one side.

"Okay," Rebecca piped up with sharpness to her voice Jill had never heard before, "then Leon and I and whoever else wants to tag along will treat this as a matter of state security. You're clandestine and you've participated in illegal operations; who knows what the consequences are?" Jill saw there was a glint of complicity in Leon's eyes: they were deadly serious.

Amanda frowned, visibly clenched her teeth. "We know how to play, now don't we?" she then remarked with a smirk. "Okay, fine: I'll abide by those rules." Amanda shifted her stance.

"In any case, I think the sooner we leave, the better it'll be for everyone. I want to get to the bottom of this; of everything, if it's possible," Rebecca said, looking at Jill. She could see hope and determination in Rebecca's eyes.

"I could settle something for tomorrow," Amanda said, her hair falling in front of her eye. "We've also got a tight schedule to keep, and I can't afford any other delays. We've got another 'something' in our hands."

Jill noticed how Wesker shifted.

It was no coincidence he had done it right after Amanda had spoken: either it concerned him, both of them or it had indeed been unintentional. Jill sincerely doubted it was the latter.

"If we left today before sunset, we would get there at a reasonable time," Wesker said, calm as always despite his earlier gesture. "I don't think there's more than two hours from here to Venice."

"Just an hour and a half, actually," Leon intervened with a small smile. The one Claire flashed at him, along with his voice tone, made Jill chuckle. "That's what you call being prepared, don't you?"

She was even tempted to laugh when she knew that remark was directed at Wesker. "Quite so," was his simple reply, and Jill's smile grew wider.

_Really, Leon, can't you keep that to yourself?_

"Well," Rebecca intervened, shrugging, "I don't see a problem with that."

"Sounds good enough to me," Claire agreed. Finally, another step towards Chris. Jill did nothing more than state her own opinion, even though it pretty much went without saying.

"Okay; let's stick to that plan."

–

_September 5__th__, 2009_

_I could've avoided this._

_I could've avoided this whole mess, but I didn't. Instead, I turned my back on you just for my own sake… but I couldn't do anything else. She's got her, my little cousin… She's been tracking me since Atlanta… Remember that? When we went out… visited the city center? I don't know how she came to know about me, you… Oliver. B-but he's got nothing to do with this, I swear to God. _She_ knew who we knew, who we were friends with, who we held close to us…_She _even knew what our plans were, for fuck's sake… She even knew _that_…_

_You're going to find out about this, that's for sure. You were always smart and quick; you're going to notice this as soon as you wake up. Open your eyes, please, and realize I haven't been as loyal as I always wanted to be. But if I don't keep the blindfold over your eyes, she'll… she'll kill her, she'll kill the poor girl. She revealed herself as 'the origin' a couple of days after Oli's funeral… And all this time, even though you've had overwhelming evidence of what really happened, I still haven't shown you the true big deal. I can't… not until I'm dead. But as you listen to this, I probably will be._

_Unlike you, I can't put duty over family; I just can't… I wish I could, but I can't. Instead, I'm doing my best to save her; she doesn't deserve what's happening to her. She's threatened your life, too… and I can't lose you._

_God…_

_I'm pathetic, I admit it. I'm a goddamned coward and I haven't done anything against it. There hasn't been a single day throughout which I haven't regretted what I did, what I've been doing to you all this time. Every time I was with you, it felt like I was pointing a gun at my own forehead; I knew I'd have to pull the trigger at any time._

_But you never realized._

_And so I sit here, telling you what I dread to tell you face-to-face._

_I'm a coward and I don't expect you to forgive me. I expect you to forget me and erase me from your life because there's nothing you can say or do that will change my deeds._

_I'll miss you, though. I'll miss you terribly._

X

When Amanda heard Allen's message, she did nothing more than cry. Cry because of her regret, because of the numbness she felt inside, because of the excruciating sorrow that tortured her heart. She had killed without a solid reason: she had done that which she had feared the most.

"_I've never killed someone, Allen, but I just..."_

"_It's alright, no need to talk anymore. I'm just concerned, and I certainly hope we get this case off our backs as soon as possible."_

Now it was more than true that Oliver could be writhing in shame and pain in his tomb. It was a thought that sent her reeling and fed her sorrow's flame.

_What have I become?_

* * *

_A/N: Okay, all that Amanda thought is cleared up; also, what really happened. Let me mention something you might've disagreed with: Amanda's reaction at Allen's taunts._

_For some reason, I'm a bit tired of seeing somebody in Amanda's situation and NOT pull the trigger. Honestly, it kinda happens in a lot of movies and then the protagonist (or whoever hesitates) gets their ass kicked. Well no, it happens differently with Amanda. You've seen she's got bite and that she won't hesitate to achieve her objective, even if it leads her to make rash and despicable decisions. This time, feeling Allen had betrayed her, she set out to find him and ta-da! She did, and he was ready to accept what he'd done. Allen knew Amanda would kill him; he knew hesitation was unknown to her, which is why Amanda pulled the trigger on him and killed her best friend. It's a bad decision on the long run, you'll see, but no more superficial personality: I wanted her to be different._

_And one more thing: I had to give Leon some protagonism. I just love the guy xDDD Not only that, though; as you can see, everybody is getting their share of interaction with Wesker. Leon's the most complicated and yet the most simple character to write about when in that situation: given he's never met Wesker, it's a handicap and both an upper hand. *sigh* The complexities of life... xDD_

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	12. Chapter XI: Decisions, Decisions Part I

**Author's Note:** My God, people, no updates since last year! Meh, probably most of you have forgotten about this, but I'm still determined to keep going with this. Basically, Writer's Block, and a huge period of it. Now, I'm back on my groov and ready to get to the kicker of this story, which is where we're getting now. Enjoy!^^

**Disclaimer: Apply the usual here; copyright goes to Capcom.**

* * *

X

Decisions, Decisions Part I

_Haste makes waste_

_September 5__th__._

_We're on our way to Venice. This all had better transpire quickly or so help me, I will make it so. I think I can't stress it enough: the bigger this gets, the harder my fall with be, but I can't break my word now, not now that we're so close. That would've undoubtedly been my modus operandi had I been in different conditions, but I can't afford to destroy the castle of cards. Not now when I'm this close to obtaining what I've wanted all this time._

_Nightmares still haunt my dreams, but the information they give me balances out their bizarre and complicated nature, not to mention frightening. And it's not the content itself that unsettles me: it's the idea of having lived through such events. I've never had any recollection of such experiences; to think that I have forgotten _so_ much… You never get to know yourself well enough. It is because of this that I have to find Alex Wesker, whoever they may be. They hold the final piece of the puzzle._

_I've done some research on my own, but I haven't reached a solid answer. I have to keep trying._

X

**September 5****th****, 2009**

**Venice, Italy. 21:15 pm.**

Wesker finished reading his last entry, sighing as he closed his notebook.

It was somehow unbelievable, but they had been bound to progress: by little past nightfall, they had arrived in Venice; from then on, it was searching. It had also been almost two days without contacting Sherry; he was sure that no matter how professional she was at times, she would eventually freak out and worry. Getting back to her once settled in would be the best option.

He stared out the large window, where almost hundreds of lights illuminated the different runways of the airport. What information could Sherry have found about Alex Wesker? During most of their free time before departing for Zurich, she and Wesker had relentlessly searched for any kind of useful information. They had theorized that he (or she) had been either a subject or the person behind the project itself: there was no way of knowing. Sherry had also pointed out that William had made no reference whatsoever to who was responsible; his notes were about everything he knew and nothing else. Nothing else had come up: this Wesker was yet another ghost.

_We are all meant to be that way. I myself wouldn't be here if it wasn't for my genetic conditions, and I would've been forgotten the same way the rest of the subjects __were. Once we're dead, it's as if we had never existed._

"_You're just one of Umbrella's leftovers."_

Such trivial words from his enemy. In those moments of sheer anger and blind persistence, they hadn't even tickled his ego; now, in retrospect, Chris had truly hit a nerve, and Wesker knew it.

_I haven't even had my own life, but how can I allow myself to complain? I've taken too much to surrender to the past coming back to haunt me; pitying myself is of no use. When all of this is over, I'll find out once and for all._

He had collected several newspaper clippings that contained information that, though slightly related, still made no sense whatsoever. One of them, from a 1960 publishing of the _Morning Sentinel, _one of Maine's most important newspapers, talked about an enormous fire in Messalonskee Ave caused by, or so reports had stated, the incineration of gasoline-stained furniture. The fire, as it was more than obvious, was intentional. The most important fact that was mentioned at the end of the article was that the family that lived there had already lost their son, who had gone missing merely a week prior to the fire. Why that event was familiar to him still escaped him, but Wesker had the kind of hunch he knew better than to ignore.

"Hey," came Jill's soft call; he knew better than to ignore that, too. He heard her chuckle as she sat. "That notebook's even fuller than the last time I saw it. Have you figured out that much?"

"Not exactly," he said, staring at the cover. "Sherry and I have been looking for certain information; this is what we found. Having it at hand helps me think."

But in lieu of a comment, he only heard silence. He glanced at her, found her frowning. "Staring for some specific reason."

"I've been meaning to ask you: have you kept anything from us?"

"Not yet," Wesker replied. "You know I always have something I won't share with everybody, but that's not the case now."

"Then why did you bluff?" Jill countered, picking up his pace. "When you said that Amanda had been too conspicuous; I could be wrong, but you hadn't seen _that_ coming. Not any more than us, I'd say."

_Ah, Jill, always so quick. When will you learn you can't dig into my business whenever it pleases you?_

But instead of snapping at her, he decided to play along. With a smirk, he said, "But I didn't bluff, Jill; I would never do that. Remember I mentioned Sherry and I had done some thinking on our own? Aside taking some more leads into account, we also dug up some information on the BSAA the Consortium had kept stashed away. Really, you wouldn't believe how useful it was."

_Whether I'm getting close to her or not, I still haven't lost my touch. I'll do whatever it takes to _always _be one step away from everyone; _always.

Jill suddenly clutched his forearm and her frown deepened. "Then why didn't you tell us, dammit? We would've avoided all this trouble if you had!" she exclaimed through gritted teeth. It was the first time in a long while that he had seen her that angry. He couldn't blame her, but neither could he blame himself. "Just tell me why!"

After a brief pause, Wesker shook his head. "I won't; not yet. You'll know soon enough."

Jill hesitated, but she eventually agreed. "I'm definitely holding you to that, Wesker. If not, I'll pry it out like I did last time."

"It'd take you much longer that way, but I agree. I'll evaluate your persuasive skills once the interrogation comes," he said with a tinge of scathing humor he'd never thought he'd use again.

Jill didn't seem hurt, angry or indignant: her expression was serene, it was one of determination. But as he'd said, he'd be ready when the time came: he wouldn't speak so easily… not when there was so much at stake. But bringing up the topic seemed like the right choice to make: things had taken an unexpected turn with Allen's death and Amanda's considerable mood-swing.

"I take back what I said: I'm willing to oblige this once," he remarked, elbows on his knees. Jill shrugged, slouching slightly.

"Whatever you like."

"Wrong: you just _need_ to know, don't you?" Wesker flashed a smirk at her, very brief though it still told her what he was thinking.

"Look, I don't want _another_ misunderstanding, that's it," Jill said with a shake of her head, "but you catch me by surprise all the time; I can't believe it. I already had my suspicions but I never thought you'd keep things to yourself, especially now."

"I have every right to keep secrets, _especially_ when people like _them_ are around, and you know who I'm referring to," he replied, averting his gaze. Jill nodded slightly. "You know that if something gets out, I'll have no way to retaliate unless I completely see it coming. You're aware of how that feels, aren't you?"

"Sadly, yeah…" she uttered, her lips thinning. "You need to keep an image of who you are… but frankly, I don't see any sense to it anymore. Didn't we agree you'd cut yourself some slack?"

Wesker smirked. "You're patronizing me, beware." At his sudden remark, Jill fell silent and bit her lip in regret, but he dismissed it: she was right. Still, it was no easy task. The problem of being around somebody like her was that no matter what you, you could always drop your guard at any moment, and that was something Wesker couldn't afford. "And yes, we did discuss that, but it's not easy."

"I never said it was," Jill said with a brief smile. "Tell me, are you going to share some details or will you let me die of anticipation? Seriously now, I'm not joking. I smell something between you and Amanda, but I can't put my finger on it."

"Thank Amanda for being indiscreet enough," he scoffed, leaning back. "I had to bargain with her; otherwise, there was no way of getting them."

"Getting what, exactly?"

"Documents and information on someone I'm set on finding," Wesker explained as uneasiness seized him. "When I mentioned that 'extra work' Sherry and I had done on our own, I was referring to Amanda herself. Yes, we dug up profiles and even more documents the Consortium had hidden away; when I read about Amanda, I knew she'd be my only link to him… or her."

"Who's that you're talking about?"

"Alex Wesker." It felt odd saying the name. "I only know the name, but I have a hunch I've no choice but to follow: I have the feeling they've been involved in the project… perhaps they were behind it since the very beginning."

Jill was pensive for a moment, then said, "I remember finding a list of test subjects in Spencer's mansion back in England. There was an Alex on the list, subject number twelve. You were thirteen."

"That gives 'irony' a whole new meaning," Wesker remarked, bitter. "Then that tells me there were two Alex Wesker: one was the subject; the other, the 'creator'. What I don't know is which of the two Amanda's after… or _I_ am after."

"Wait, Amanda's after Alex?" Jill inquired, perplexed. "Talk about a busy agenda."

"She had been… until _you_ came up and were her main interest."

"Why the sudden change?"

"Their story's not too complicated, but it does make you wonder a lot of things," Wesker said, remembering what little information about them Amanda had given him. "Though she didn't say much, she emphasized her practically lifelong partnership with Keyes. Before they teamed up with the remaining branches of the BSAA, they, along with a small group of people, were a separate entity related to the agency itself."

"Well, with Oliver monitoring things, I'm sure it all went smoothly," Jill remarked, rolling her eyes.

"But when it dissolved, they were left adrift, so to speak. Not even the Consortium or the government knew about them, which obviously lent them the upper hand. You know the rest."

Jill grimaced. "You just opened another door. Anyway, whatever she's up to, I don't wanna know."

"I do, on the other hand. Either I dig or I've got nothing." He paused. "To get more data about Alex, I had to negotiate with Amanda: I traded his or her whereabouts for updates on Chris' state."

"God, she was _that_ intent on killing him…" Jill whispered in shock. "I sure hope she's thought twice about it now. That's just crazy."

"You've just hurt my feelings, Jill," Wesker remarked, holding back a smirk. Jill's perplexed gaze met him.

"You're joking."

"I can assure you I'm not. Why else did you think I joined this little expedition? I may change my mind along the way, but right now my intentions remain steadfast: they never change, or did you expect them to?"

When Wesker saw Jill's countenance change, it reminded him of a distant but omnipresent moment: when she'd seen him alive once more. It was such a change… especially in her eyes. He'd never forget them.

"No… I never did."

In that moment, Leon appeared behind them and for once, Wesker found something to actually thank him for. He stood up, ignoring Jill's intent glare, as Leon said,

"It's all settled. We can get going."

Not for the first time, Wesker was glad he'd be spending some time away from Jill, but being alongside Claire would be like stepping out of the pan and into the fire. Perhaps prejudice was getting in the way, but he never let his guard down.

Tally-ho.

–

"You look more than ready."

Chris half-turned to the door, where he found Marco. This time, there was something wrong about the man, especially about his eyes: his grey hues had something to them that resembled worry, perhaps even disapproval. His stance showed nothing more than that, but in the most surreptitious of ways. Whilst he remained silent, Chris cocked his gun and holstered it, not taking his eyes off Marco.

"I'm not taking much. It shouldn't take long."

Marco pursed his lips, averting his gaze. "I see… They won't be far from here, considering that their better option was to remain as close to us as possible." He cleared his throat. "Listen, I'm also here to tell you that the cure is almost ready. Three days at the most."

Chris' heart skipped a beat. Would that mean he wouldn't have to…?

_He-he wasn't lying! I'll be myself again!_

_**Don't get your hopes up. You still have a job to do, remember?**_

Marco smiled, showing a line of straight white teeth. "You thought I was lying? No, Chris; I, like you, keep my promises. You've been far more useful than I originally imagined, and I'm not just talking about the tasks I've sent you on."

As Marco approached him, Chris grew stiff. The prospect of having been used _again_ frightened him, told him to take matters onto his own hands, but he could see Marco meant what he was saying. Marco had never lied to him, not once, even about the most personal of matters. Why else would he have told him Vithar and Freya had been like _his children_? That he considered family to be the most important thing? Marco clearly was a man who didn't show weakness as long as he could allow himself not to, but as days had gone by he had shown more than Chris had expected. Marco _trusted_ him.

"Why, then?" Chris asked as Marco stopped at arm's length.

"Think back two nights ago, when Vithar had his nightmare, and you'll understand why," Marco said, serene. He took off his glasses, pausing for a moment. "That other 'you' may have been, if you'll excuse me, screwing up your mind a bit further every day, but you've helped me see a lot of things. I suppose I should thank you. Vithar, on the other hand, has openly manifested his dislike towards your actions. He's changed, and he fears you'll end up like Freya. Though who are we to stop you?"

"He doesn't understand the reason why," Chris snapped, narrowing his eyes.

"And you do?"

_**Leave already! He's just tangling up things.**_

Before Marco could say anything else, Chris strode out of the room, inevitably thinking about Vithar. It was true the boy had influenced his life in some way, but that was no reason to be deterred. Vithar didn't understand, Marco didn't understand… _nobody _did.

_I'm going to see this through._

_**But do you really have the guts, Chris? Do you really have the courage to point a gun at those who you love? You still cling to their memory, much to my dislike, but the lesson still has to be learned. Do you have what it takes?**_

Chris couldn't help a brief smile. _Not yet, but maybe when I face them, I will._

_**Though that's not what I was expecting, that's the spirit. Say, who comes first?**_

He didn't know.

_**Silent? Heh, alright then: I'll make the decision myself. Ready to waltz along?**_

–

**Manhattan, USA.**

**15:30 pm.**

Two days.

Two days without hearing from Wesker. Sherry knew better than to freak out in that kind of situation: sometimes his absence could range from two days to months, even. But after she'd gotten such a strange call telling her there'd been a 'change of plans', Sherry couldn't help thinking it concerned him and the others.

_God, I sure hope you're alright._

She was browsing again through the files she and Wesker had dug out, trying to find any other sort of relevant information. She found what they had found the first time: there was nothing more than that. Sherry knew how determined Wesker was to find answers now that most of his past had come back. Wesker's past was like a chest locked up with an unobtainable key; fortunately, it had finally been open.

_And thanks to Jill, no less. It relieves me to see she's so set on sticking by his side.__ It's like she's not afraid of him anymore._

Sherry knew better than to question Wesker's feelings. It wasn't until a month after he'd taken her in that he started to open up. Back in that year, she was merely eleven years old; how could a child that age come to understand a man like him, much older and wiser? But as time went by and she learned from him, she also learned _about_ him: he became her very best friend. Sherry became independent, stronger, and not because of the negative treatment she received; on the contrary, there was always something positive in what he said or did. Eventually, Wesker saw her as someone else, which was right what she wanted.

As such, she was worried to death. If something happened to him and it had been her fault, Sherry would never forgive herself. All of a sudden, her cell-phone buzzed inside her pocket. She picked it up without even identifying the number.

"Yes?"

"_Now _this_ is a nice surprise. Who would've thought you would pick up with all normalcy?_"

"Well, hate to burst your bubble, but God am I glad to hear from you," Sherry said, grinning like a kid. "Where've you been? I've been worried _sick_ since I got the call!"

"_Oh, Amanda's?_" Wesker chuckled. "_A dreadful delay, but eventually worth it._"

"So that's her name?" Sherry looked at the screen of her laptop and immediately laid her sight upon Amanda's profile. "Amanda Graves… Perfect, I've been an idiot not to recognize her. In any case, what did you find out?"

"_For starters, that Amanda is after Alex Wesker, too. Something else that confuses me is that there were actually_ two_ Alex. I pray for the less important to be dead; that'd be convenient._" Sherry could sense irritation in his last sentence: it was indeed confusing.

"Then who have we looked up?"

"_I don't know yet. One was the subject, number twelve; the other, the chief of the project,_" Wesker explained. "_I hope getting to Marco will provide some much needed answers._" He let out a brief sigh. "_I'll put you up to date once we get back. I don't trust the line, hence why I've kept more than I've let on. How're things over there?_"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Sherry said with a smile, "but I have to tell you this: I'm flying to Massachusetts tomorrow. Conferences call, after all."

"_You were never a good public speaker, Sherry._" The tinge of humor in his voice made her smile even more widely.

"But I can give it a try!" she exclaimed back with a good-hearted chuckle. "On a lighter note, the company income is still steady. In our next monthly board meeting, the dividends are going to be juicy for everyone. And before you say anything," she added, "yes, you still get your fifteen."

"_I wasn't going to ask, but thank you._"

"Really now?" Sherry looked at her watch; in twenty minutes, she'd be receiving a visitor. "Sorry, but I've got something important to attend to and it's going to take long. I'm glad you called."

"_Very well; we also need to get our rest. Well, at least I do, to be frank._"

"Speaking of, any other relevant clue?" Sherry inquired, leaning back in her seat with worry blooming once more. When he spoke, there was slight grief in his voice.

"_Not really. It's the same nightmare every night, but each time is slightly longer and images of other events come up. I'm still trying to make sense out of them_," Wesker explained, sighing at the end. "_There's nothing else to discuss._"

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Sherry. "Make sure you take care of yourself and if anything else comes up, please tell me."

"_Rest assured, I don't plan to leave you in the dark for as long as I have been. _You_ make sure you get us a safe line; after all, you got the experts._"

"I will. I'll call when it's done."

"_Very well. And Sherry?_"

A knot formed in her stomach when he called her. "Yeah?"

"_Be careful._"

–

"Be careful." And Wesker meant it. Sherry didn't reply immediately; it was only after a few seconds that she said,

"_I will. No worries on that._"

With that, she hung up, so did Wesker… but unusually unsettled. William had said that exact same thing at the end of their last call before his death; it was amazing how history tended to repeat itself. But if that tended to happen, would something happen to Sherry, too? If that was the case, then his luck was definitely rotten. There was no time to worry about her, though: it would be pointless. He was several thousands of miles away and unable to return; at the same time, he had trained her well enough. She was more than competent to take care of herself.

There was nothing to do. Unless he wanted to wrack his brains off turning thoughts around, he'd have to stay put and though inactivity wasn't bad once in a while, it barely felt like the best option. There was something he concentrated on: his nightmare. He needed to draw conclusions from it, not just have it in store.

_Think: who is he? Why… why is he so familiar?_

The boy in his nightmare, the boy who had called to him to help him carry on, even with the feeblest of words. His eyes: it was his eyes what made him remember so clearly. Wesker concentrated even further, recalling as many faces of all he'd come across as possible, only to settle for the most unusual one… but the most plausible. And again, his heart skipped a beat.

_Impossible…_

But so far, it was true. The boy was William Birkin himself.

–

_Vithar is going to kill me for this, but what choice do I have?_

Marco stopped in front of Vithar's door, weighing his options. He stood there for a few seconds before sighing in exasperation and collapsing against the wall. His last encounter with Chris had left him genuinely shaken, to say the least. And all he had said to him… it had been no lie.

_I'm realizing the error of ways. I shouldn't be seeking vengeance with such passion, but… but Wesker took all I had left from me. But… But it's not entirely his fault: Excella knew what she'd be getting into! I'm sure she must've weighed her options before making her choice. No, no: he deceived her, he tricked her into believing a lie… Oh, dammit… And moreover, I'm willing to help the one who should be my sworn enemy! _

Marco bit his lip. _I can't ditch him now: Chris needs that vaccine. And if I don't supply him with it, only God knows what will happen. It's… it's the only chance to recover what he's lost._

"_Rejoice in your happiness and the others'."_

_But what others, padre? Has God sent him my way so that I could realize my mistakes?_

Marco knew he was becoming a bitter man, his reality plagued and haunted by memories of his past. What else did he need to take? Despite Chris' decision to join him, Marco could take nothing from him. Chris had his sister left, and everyone he cared about: Marco didn't have the right to take _her_ away from him. He'd hurt her, yes, to draw him in, to lure him… but had that been the best option?

_I can't keep doing this to myself. Grazie a Dio I still have my sanity._

In that moment, Vithar stepped out of his room and, with surprise, he stared at Marco, who smiled and opened his arms to welcome Vithar into an embrace. With a smile of his own, Vithar stuck close to Marco.

"Did… did you talk to him?"

"I did, Vithar, but he wouldn't listen," Marco said, stroking the boy's hair. "He's dead set on what he's doing, and I have to open his eyes before he makes a costly mistake."

"But… but you wanted to use him, didn't you?" Vithar asked, his tone sad. "And you said… you said we had to take… take revenge on those who… who had taken people away from us, like… like I have lost Freya!"

"I know," Marco admitted, lowering his head. "I know I encouraged you to feed your soul hate, but… but I was wrong. It just… strangles you until you can't but let it go and _breathe_. I don't want you to be tied up by hate, Vithar; trust me, I know how that feels. I'll carry out one last job myself, and that involves taking out the one that caused all this."

"_Him_?"

"…Yes, him."

Vithar paused for a moment, then, "You said you hadn't made any promises about the cure. Chris told me he really hoped you could… could make it. It was all-"

"They were words driven by thirst for revenge, Vithar. I know that –partly- because of him, you lost Freya and I my own sister, Excella." He sighed. "But sometimes, we can't take what we should be able to. It's true that it was my intention to manipulate him, but I know better than that. He's made me changed, and he's become your friend. That you have befriended someone is the best news I have received until now," he added, patting Vithar's shoulder, "and you've changed to. That's something I need to pay him back for."

"So you're going to help him?"

"Yes," Marco said with a firm nod. "It may be too late for us to act now, but I know someone who can."

"Who?" Vithar asked. Marco smiled when Vithar met his eyes.

"I'm going to take a leap of faith. _Nu vă fie teamă, _Vithar."

* * *

_A/N: AHA! Things are getting tangled up... even more. Don't worry: Marco didn't have a mood swing; he's got his reasons for taking that leap of faith, and you'll see why. _

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	13. Chapter XII: Decisions,Decisions Part II

XII

Decisions, Decisions Part II

_Fate dictates_

_This is gonna get worse than I thought…_

Despite Leon only did _extensive_ research when dealing with a matter of the utmost importance –and one which caught his interest, too-, he had already read three extensive reports on the typical split-personality thing: _anything_ to lend some help. He'd taken notes, a lot of them, scribbles and outlines drawn haphazardly across a small sheet of paper. He was both lucky to be fluent on Italian and to have found a free computer down near the lobby. Sadly, it was a bit complicated… like everything was, really.

He thought about his last serious conversation with Claire, aboard the plane. She hadn't broken down like both he and she –this had been a confession- had expected, but her worry had been contagious. She was still shaken by the events back at Zurich, Allen's death and his recording to Amanda. Amanda had killed her best friend, ruthlessly, not even looking back, and though Claire wished she could face her situation with more than just conviction, she was also afraid of what she could get to do. Having to be as cold as Amanda truly frightened her, but showing Chris that she was still the sister he'd always taken her for would do no good.

But Claire spent the rest of the trip smiling. It killed him to see her suffering such emotional ups and downs so quickly, but at least nothing was definite yet.

_And you said you'd kill me if I hurt her? Chris, you bastard…_

He drove the thought away from his mind: it wasn't right.

_It isn't right? The hell with that! Just look where it's all getting._

Leon had a glance at his watch: it was ten. Just the time to call it a day.

The same moment he stood up, though, Leon caught sight of Jill going up the stairs. Half an hour and she still wasn't asleep? Stuffing the paper inside his pocket, Leon approached her. "I thought you were supposed to be KO."

Jill turned and smiled. "I just needed a walk, get some air. I was starting to freak out on my own."

Leon noticed her dark hoody: a wise choice. But he was still worried. What if Chris had been following her? "You alright?"

"Sure, I'm better now. What are _you_ doing up?"

"Just web-surfing, fishing some info out of the net," he said. Jill cocked an eyebrow. "Useful information, trust me."

"Alright, alright! I didn't say anything!" she replied, chuckling. "Give me a knock once you're up in your room, will you?"

"Deal. Night, Jill."

"Bye."

Leon leaned his back against the banister, took out the paper and gave it another read, all the while shooting glances at the entrance. For five full minutes, he kept a careful watch on who went in and who went out, not even moving an inch. After said time, he determined there was nothing wrong (_Perhaps a too-confident assumption_, he thought), but as he stepped foot on the stairs, one last person caught his attention.

And his heart skipped a beat.

Leon ran at full pelt towards Jill's room. He didn't knock once but thrice; Jill was at the door in less than a second. "Leon, what's going on?"

"Just go, get the hell out of here!" he commanded. "Get in touch with Wesker! Get away as fast as you can!"

Jill needed no further explanation: after snatching her phone and documents from the table, she sped towards the emergency exit on Leon's indication.

He, on the other hand, could barely turn around before realizing Chris was behind him. Whether Leon faced him or not, he knew he was standing on Death's doorstep… unless, of course, Chris didn't kill him because of some miracle.

"Where is she?" Chris asked, not stepping any closer. Leon decided to turn slowly, silent: he didn't even know what to do. He was between the sword and the wall, and he could already feel the sword piercing his chest. "Tell me where she is, Leon."

"I won't." Leon readied his stance. "You don't have to do this. Get right of whatever's in your head, Chris; fight it!"

"He won't try!" Chris exclaimed, his voice changing as if due to- _No, it _is_ an inflection_. "He doesn't want to! He _can't_!"

Leon realized it wasn't the real Chris he was talking to, but his alter. The fact that Chris was so strong he couldn't even fight himself was dreadful… if that even made any sense at all. "You'll come to regret all of this, trust me." He fortunately stifled a shiver. "I thought you were stronger than this! Find yourself again: you're not who you think you-"

"I know _exactly_ who I am!" Chris cried, seizing and pinning Leon against the wall by his collar. Leon's fear spiked: the situation was getting out of control. He attempted to break free of Chris' grip, but it wouldn't falter. "Just tell me where Jill is and I'll spare you."

"Look for her yourself!"

"Thanks for the idea."

A second later, he had collided against the mirror at the end of the hall. Some of the shards grazed and harmed his back. By the time Leon regained his breath, Chris was already gone.

And he'd taken the emergency exit.

–

Jill didn't look back: she'd learnt from her own mistakes in the past. If Leon had told her to run, she would run and get to safety… without risking the others' lives. For a moment, doubt clouded her mind but whatever choice she made, Wesker would have to intervene. She would not stand her ground against Chris with just words, and it was just a matter of time until he found her. Only God knew what would happen next.

_I can't believe I'm so helpless! If Chris wasn't so quick now, I could hold my own! _

When she was far enough from the hotel, she took cover in an alley. With shaky hands, she picked up her phone and dialled.

She hadn't put it by her ear when somebody dropped behind her: it was Chris.

"You've been a bit hard to find," he said, and he smiled in that peculiar way of his. Jill instinctively backed away, her gaze fixed on his, as he got closer. "If you're worried about Leon, don't be. He's fine."

Part of herself felt at ease at the news. If Leon was fine, then it meant Chris had been in control the whole time… but which one of them? "What do you want? Are you here to kill me?"

Chris seemed surprised at her question, but she could see in his countenance he knew she was serious. "**If it means he'll grow weaker, then yes.**" Jill's blood ran cold. "**And I'll admit it, I pity you. How can't you realize what he's trying to do? You should know.**"

That voice… the alter. She'd already heard it too many times during their argument back at the States. He was changing, and it was happening as fast as Wesker had predicted it. Eventually, one of the two personalities would settle and, as it usually happened, the one that did was the alter ego. If Chris didn't fight, he was as good as dead.

"What we want is for him to come back! What Marco said about the vaccine is a lie!"

"How can you pretend to know everything?" Chris bellowed, his voice cracking slightly. "I've been with him all this time! He showed what he's been doing: the vaccine is almost ready!" Pain was drawn all over his features. "I'll… I'll be myself again, Jill, don't you see? **We want to get rid of this, to become stable, and when we are, we… we won't be like **_**him**_** anymore!**"

"You're already _him_!" Jill cried, finding her chance to convince him. Could words work their magic? "If you don't fight yourself, you'll be heading down the path he took! I told you: Wesker has changed, and that's because he fought! He's getting out of the darkness; _you_ are stepping in it! The more you crumble under the pressure, the sooner we'll lose you! Come back with us…" Tears stung at her eyes, and she didn't hold them back. "Come back with me."

A long moment of silence ensued. And then Chris was staring at her in sheer horror, shaking like a leaf, but after a second look Jill noticed he wasn't staring at her… but _behind_ her. She spun around and was as shocked as Chris was: Wesker was there. Her mind was screaming at her: she was the element that would destroy them both.

"Give it back," Chris said, his voice shaking as much as his body. "Give it all back. _Give it back!_"

"I can't give back what I took from you, and so can't you… negotiating, that is."

For Jill, it clicked in a blink of an eye.

"**Then it will be by force!**"

"NOO!"

And as Jill stood in their way, somebody also came to her aid. "STOP!" Claire was standing right in front of Wesker, her countenance determined yet grim. "Don't do it!"

"You're protecting him?" Chris' eyes went wide. "**He stood for Jill's betrayal, but YOURS?**"

"We betrayed nobody, not even you!" Claire replied, raising her voice. "If your intention is to kill us, then you're getting what you want! I don't even want to do this: I didn't want to shoot you and I don't want to fight you! But you're killing me, Jill; hell, _everybody_ who cares for you! Because I don't care if you're fighting to get the cure back; what I care about is _your self_! If you don't fight… I'll lose my brother: you will be your own killer."

"**We're fighting for survival! That's what everybody does!**"

"No, _you_ are!" Claire snapped. "The real Chris is fighting to _live_!" She sighed. "And those are different things."

Chris was mortified and Jill, the same moment he looked back at him, realized something was horribly wrong.

"**No, no, not now…**" He was backing away, his eyes wider than before and clutching at his head. "**I'm dealing with this; you don't have the guts to face them! Not your sister, not your lover, not your own **_**goddamned**_** enemy!**"

"Break through, Chris! Come on, please!" Jill begged, trying as hard as she could to pry him out. It was horrible to see how much pain both of them were inflicting on him, but it was the only way. She was about to step forward when Wesker stopped.

"Not yet. The instability will pass, though."

"**The hell it will!**" Chris snapped back, chuckling. "**I'll make sure he doesn't- NO!**" And with one last scream, he fell to his knees, gasping for breath, still shaking. "Oh, God… Oh, God, what am I doing…?"

Jill took a hesitant step forward, feeling unsure of what to do, but she received a determined nod from Claire: she had the go-ahead. She knelt in front of Chris, laid a hand on his shoulder. It immediately caught his attention. Jill found herself staring into a pair of eyes that, though different in color, were still as she remembered them.

"…Jill?"

She couldn't hold back a beaming smile: was he starting to come back? "Yeah, it's me! It's me, Chris!" She flung her arms around his neck, pulling him close; to her surprise, he did the same. "Tell me you're back, just like last time… Fight him, Chris, you have to!"

"But I've tried so many times… I hate how he –I, whoever it is- keeps me back." He chuckled, withdrawing. "I tried to forget about you two, but you just kept coming back. In the end, I guess I was taking the wrong way." He looked up at Claire. "And I don't know if it was him or if it was me, but I was tortured because of my hesitation. Perhaps both of us are convincing ourselves that we're doing the right thing, but we're both fighting for control at the same time. I don't know how much I can keep it up." Then, without an ounce of fear or hesitation, he looked at Wesker. "I'm breaking."

Jill stole a glance at Wesker, who had ever so slightly tensed. She couldn't imagine what was going on through his head.

"But you'll get the vaccine… won't you?" she asked then, remembering his other self's words.

"I'm telling you: I will!" Mirth lightened up Chris' eyes. "And I'll be normal again! But that's two days from now, and a lot of things can happen in two days. I may die tonight by my own… by my own mind."

"But you've gone through worse and you've made it!" Claire protested, clenching her fists. "Just like I have!"

"You know it's not the same, Claire. It's constant. We've made it because the stress disappeared after a while, but he's there _all the time_. There's always so much I can take. I don't know what's going on. I know I have to fight, but all the pain, all the… _everything_ comes back, and I want to make it go away so badly that I brought it up. 'To get rid of something, you have to get rid of the source first'. Remember I said that, Claire?"

Jill helped him up to his feet, not keeping her eyes off Claire. She was pale, and in disbelief.

"Chris, I-"

"GAAH!" Chris lost his balance, almost dragging Jill down with him, but she held hers and kept him from falling. "I'm not gonna make it! Jill, let me go!" Though her heart ached, she complied… and she watched him slip away once more. After a few seconds, Chris straightened yet he didn't look back at them. "**Bastard… I will make pay.**"

"There should be no you," Wesker said. Chris apparently found it funny.

"**True; there should be no 'I'. I always complain about the silence.**"

Before anybody could react, Chris jumped to the nearest rooftop and disappeared from sight. If it weren't for her self-control and sensibility, Jill would've chased after him.

"_I may die tonight by my own mind."_

And the worst thing was they couldn't stop it… unless they acted fast. _Real_ fast.

"What did he mean by that?" Claire asked, turning to Wesker. "The silence?"

"He means that he's alone."

–

It was raining, hard.

Amanda had spent endless minutes staring outside her window, watching the sky pour down on her. It brought back painful memories of Allen, but those were in her mind with just one purpose: to make her get over his death. Amanda had already gotten used to his absence and it had been merely hours since she'd pulled the trigger on him. There would be no funeral for him: that had always been his dying wish. She would personally incinerate his body and send his ashes to his family… and when all of this was over, she would face them.

Because no matter in which ways she had helped the world, she had turned into a killer. And killers, even those who killed for the greater good, would be punished. Amanda knew she would have to face justice.

She smirked. _Well, I'll do as much as I can during the time I have left._

Minutes after, she received a call. It was William.

"I didn't expect your call. What's keeping you up?"

"_You do forget we're six hours behind you, right?_"

Amanda said, "I know. So, what's business this time?"

"_None of any unimportant kind. But first, how're things going?"_

Amanda sighed. He had requested any kind of update, and that meant involving Allen. "Allen's dead. I had to kill him."

And it had felt horrible, in retrospect. She could still feel the weight of the gun in her hand: an everlasting sensation. Amanda had been challenged many times during her childhood, and she'd always backed away due to her cautious nature. When Allen had challenged her to kill him, however, she didn't make the same mistake.

Amanda heard William sigh heavily. "_I'm sorry, really, but I guess you really didn't have any choice. She… she's gotten in contact with us and she told me to pass on a bit of info to you._"

A pang of shock struck her heart. She closed her book, James Joyce's _Ulysses_, and paid close attention. Both she and William had had a common objective since his first call, and Allen calling her 'the origin' ringed a few bells. Were they both in some kind of relationship with her? Not to mention Wesker… The eight was coming to a close.

"Sure, go on."

"_Allen was her informant. He was undercover for one specific reason: she had his little cousin. He couldn't cope with the blackmailing but he eventually agreed. He's been leaking information to her since the Redfield case started: it's all Progenitor-based concoctions that she's interested in."_

"Progenitor… the Mother virus?"

"_Exactly, which perfectly applies to Uroboros. Allen's __cousin Helena has already been released, which means he didn't need him anymore. Still, she would've gotten to you otherwise._"

It was done: the puzzle was complete. Allen had always been unable to put duty over family, unlike her, and she knew that perfectly. Amanda's life had been on the line, so had his and his cousin's. It was a matter of who to save and who to kill: Allen had been the latter.

"That bitch… Though I already almost all of this: Allen left me a recording before meeting his death. I just can't believe I've been so blind…"

"_It can happen from time to time, don't worry."_ Amanda smirked at William's words. _"So you say you've established a working relationship with Wesker?_"

"Uh-huh. I don't know when he's gonna drop some news, but I'm going to keep my part of the deal," she said. "I'll have to tell him about all of this. William, you said you'd get me answers if I got him and the others to you, but you still haven't shown up."

William chuckled. "_Don't worry; we're on our way. If you don't mind, could you get me his number? Of course, he must've told you."_

"No, but I know someone who can get it for you," Amanda replied, jumping out of bed to snatch her address book from her desk. "Let me see… Ah here we go. Get in contact with Sherry Birkin, CEO of Rho Pharmaceutical."

"_O-okay, just… Alright, shoot_."

Amanda hesitated for a moment, having felt nervousness in his tone. The same moment she finished talking, he hung up.

_So you've got something to tell me too, huh? Well, I'll wait till all of this has settled. William, now you owe me more answers than you can give me._

* * *

A/N: Huzzah, here's the update. I won't say anything else: reviews are up to you, guys. Oh, before I forget: it's not the William he gives me impression to be... mwuahaha!


	14. Chapter 14: IMPORTANT Author's Note

Fellow readers of "Symphony of Madness":

It makes me sad to say this, but this story is discontinued from this point on.

Reasons?

Because I simply see it as the best choice. And allow me to explain.

I have had a lot of ideas stored up ready to be written down, but I was more than anxious to get to the third part; yes, the series would be having a third part and it **shall**, only in a different way. After pondering and pondering, I've come to the realization I can't continue this story: I have unwillingly put myself in the middle of a messy storyline with, to my impression, several discontinuities. At the same time, I haven't felt quite satisfied with the latest chapters, as if I was forcing it. I may have suffered through Writer's Block, I don't doubt it, so I want to turn things around. So, I have decided to build a different kind of series. That series will be as following:

The first part of the series will still be "Dawn of Uroboros", since that was the beginning of everything and was too much of a good story (since I think I did quite well with that one) to be taken down. That sets the beginning.

The second part will be a bridge story, five-six chapters at the most, so as to build up the third part… which would pretty much act as the _second_ part if it weren't for the bridge story, but since I want to write about the events that lead up to the third part and how everything gets solved, the bridge story will be SoM's substitute. Why? Because I have new ideas and I don't want to waste time wracking my brains and not getting anything. This bridge story, mind you, will include fragments previously seen in SoM; those, I consider vital for everything to flow out. More details will be coming out in my profile.

The third part has now its official title: "Everything We Fight For", and it will take place seven years after the bridge story. Its summary is as follows:

_**It's been seven years, seven years since Chris' suffering at the hands of the Uroboros virus. Now he and Jill, along with their seven year old son, must fight against the shadows threaten to drive them apart yet, at the same time, bring them closer than ever before. They must protect everything they've ever fought for, no matter the cost.**_

A final word of warning: the bridge story will feature a couple of twist that deviate from SoM's storyline, so there will be **two** independent series: that comprised of DoU and SoM, and the other one comprised of DoU, the bridge story (title pending), and "Everything We Fight For."

I do have to apologize if anybody feels bad or disappointed by this change, but I saw it as the best choice. My ideas were going slack and I came up with brand new ones during my Easter break, ones that have potential and backgrounds I hadn't explored before. So, new series, here I come!

You can re-read DoU again so as to get an idea of how things will flow out, but the bridge story will be up this weekend. I'll spend as much free time as I get building it so as it all goes smoothly and quickly. Those who enjoyed "Symphony of Madness" will still be able to go over it, since it won't be taken down.

Last, but not least, I have to thank everybody who stuck by me throughout the story, even those who dropped it after an endless period of time without updates. I was glad to see the attention it got during its first moments after its inception, and I shall see to it that the next series doesn't disappoint. In fact, I'm quite positive about it. And besides, we all need to start from scratch some other time, get a blank slate. It's my turn now.

One final thanks and I'll see you around in the next series!

.-SnipingWolf


End file.
